I Miss You
by LSupergirl
Summary: Two flawed people, one last stab at perfection. Can they finally get it right?
1. To See You

Disclaimer: "I Miss You" was shamelessly stolen from Incubus off of their "Make Yourself" album. Gilmore Girls and all entities, characters, dialogue, blah blah etc. are property of ASP and the WB.  
  
A/N: Call it boredom on my part. Call it pure insanity. Or call it my next project. For some odd reason, while randomly wandering around my dorm room one cool autumn night at TCNJ, inspiration struck. As I picked up my Incubus CD, Make Yourself, I saw the connections many of the songs had to all things Gilmore-mainly, the whole Trory relationship as well as the connection to Chad Michael Murray. Anyway, what I will now attempt to do is write a fic based on the lyrics of a song. But the trick is, not only do I have to write each chapter in relation to the song lyrics, I must also weave them together in a fic that will 1) make sense, 2) have some sort of worth in the Trory realm of things, and 3) interest all of you, the faithful Trory readers. If anyone cares enough and is still reading this, bless your soul. To everyone else, you're not reading this anyway, so who cares? By the way...no promises on updates (if it merits being updated). This is going to be the mother of all challenges...here's hoping I come out with what little of my sanity is left. =)   
  
  
I Miss You  
Chapter 1: To See You  
  
  
Graduation Day. After twelve years of wandering its impossibly hostile hallways, Tristin Dugrey is finally free of Chilton. His last exam has been taken, his locker has been cleaned out. All traces of his life have been removed. Free at last. Except... the graduation ceremony. The insufferably long formal ceremony that will take place on the football field where he and the Class of 2003 will finally part ways. It is time to throw their wings to the air and seek their fortunes elsewhere. As far as Tristin is concerned, good riddance. With a few notable exceptions...  
  
Best not to go into that now. No one at Chilton deserves his good graces. They sure as hell haven't shown him any. No one has allowed him to break free of his gilded cage, to shed his filthy rich persona. Well, almost no one. But that isn't the important thing now. Time to focus on the future, the future so close at hand that he can almost reach out and touch it.  
  
Alright, who is he kidding. He is dying inside. The majority of his class he can care less about. But there is one girl who will always hold a place in his heart. And he has ruthlessly destroyed everything that they have held dear in their relationship. That's how she sees it, anyway. What she doesn't realize is that Tristin is doing it for their benefit. Tristin knows he is in love with her. He knows that she is in love with him. But he also knows that they are about to embark on the biggest journey of their lives...separately. They need time to evolve into the people they are meant to be. And they can't do that while still together. So Tristin had broken things off. He knows that intellectually, both of them understand why this must be done...but their hearts will never understand.  
  
She will go off to Harvard and he will go off to Princeton. They will grow and change. Tristin knows that even after the four years of separation are up, he will continue to love her as much as he always has. He hopes to God that she will feel the same way. If he has somehow sabotaged their relationship in the hopes of making it stronger, he will be devastated. He knows he is taking a huge risk...he was lucky enough to win her over the first time. If he manages to do it a second time, there will be no doubt in his mind that they belong together. That which does not kill us...  
  
She is the only one who has ever really seen him. The real him, hidden beneath the smirky exterior. He likes to think that he was the first one to see her, all the secrets she keeps hidden from the world. But he knows that is not true. Many people love her for the same reasons he does. They know her secrets. But no one in the world except the two of them knows their secrets. Like the time that the two of them, both top ten students, cut class one day to feed the ducks at the pond. They had forgotten to bring bread, so she had crumpled up a bag of chips and flung the pieces above her head, laughing as little golden flakes rained down on both of them.  
  
Tristin sighs nostalgically. For the last time, he walks out of the wide double doors to the Chilton courtyard. Behind him, hordes of underclassmen joyfully throw their notebooks in the air. Showers of paper fall from every opened locker, left carelessly in layers in the hallways. School is out.   
  
He finds her there, sitting by the fountain. She is waiting for him. Old habits die hard. He walks up to her as he always does. She stands to meet him. They briefly touch hands and he leans over to kiss her forehead. It pains them both. Everything they've ever wanted in another person, standing right before them, but unable to claim the other for their own. Not yet.  
  
They avert their eyes quickly, each unwilling to show the other just how much they are hurting. "See you tonight?" he chokes out.  
  
"At graduation," she whispers tearfully. Then she runs to the bus.  
  
Tristin watches her go. Her hair flies wildly behind her in her haste to get away from him as fast as possible. He shoves his hands in his pocket and walks to his car. His shoulders slump and his stride is slower, more deliberate. He is dying inside. He needs to see her. And he needs her to see him.  
  
***  
  
He does see her that night. She walks up to the podium, looking ethereal in her flowing white graduation gown. She clears her throat self consciously, then begins her salutatory address. He doesn't hear a word of her speech. He closes his eyes and listens to the steady timbre of her voice. As her speech draws to a close, her voice gets tender, and he knows that she is speaking directly to him. "Here's to discovering ourselves. We will meet again someday, when the time is right." Thunderous applause accompanies her walk back to her seat in the front row. As she passes his chair, she winks at him. He smiles in return. Everything will be alright. She sees him.  
  
  
  



	2. When I Wake Up

I Miss You  
Chapter 2: When I Wake Up  
  
  
  
He restlessly shifts in his bed, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. It is his last night in his own bed. Tomorrow he leaves for Princeton. He can't sleep. His body is tired, but his mind is whirring with activity. He can't relax enough to fall asleep. He wishes he could call her. She could always soothe him into sleep. Many times during their relationship, he found himself calling her at all hours of the night because he couldn't fall asleep without hearing the sounds of her voice. She was always so understanding, never minding the late night phone calls that would invariably wake her from a sound sleep. But that is no longer an option.  
  
They have kept in touch. Each needs the other to play some role in their respective lives. To be cut off from each other so completely would be like the loss of a limb. So they make phone calls and exchange emails. But only as friends. It would be unfair of him to carry over aspects of their romantic relationship into their friendship, especially since he is the one who broke things off to begin with.  
  
He sits up in bed and rotates his neck back and forth, trying to get the kinks out. He gets out of bed and shuffles over to the window. He stares at the moon, in deep contemplation. The moonlight bathes him in a soft glow, the only source of light in the darkened room.   
  
He isn't going to lie to himself. The past summer has been hard. It has been a struggle to get through each day, knowing that she is out there but they are not together. He finds himself questioning his decision to break up with her, asking himself why he hadn't at least waited until the end of summer. Then they would have at least gotten to spend another magical summer together before facing the harsh realities of growing up. But he realizes that it had to happen sooner rather than later. It is one of those decisions he has to follow through on before he can talk himself out of it, because otherwise he would never bring himself to go through with it.  
  
He pads back to his bed and crawls in. He lays flat on his back and stares at the ceiling, tracing the shadows with his eyes. His gaze flickers to the alarm clock on his night stand. 2:08, reads the bright red numbers. He wishes he could call her. Suddenly, the reasons he has for not calling her seem to fade in importance. The need to talk to her outweighs his better judgment. He picks up the phone and dials.  
  
Almost immediately, the phone is answered.   
  
"Hello?" No trace of sleep in her voice. She sounds alert, wide awake.  
  
"Hey," he says softly. His voice is slightly husky from drowsiness. "Why aren't you sleeping?"  
  
"I was," she protested.  
  
"Rory..." he says, his tone of voice conveying that he isn't buying it.  
  
"I was," she repeats earnestly. "But lately I've been waking up in the middle of the night."  
  
"Oh? Any reason?" he asks, concerned.  
  
"Just a lot of stuff on my mind," she answers vaguely. "In the middle of the night, when I wake up, my first instinct is still to call you."  
  
"I know how you feel," he says, bemused. "So why haven't you?"  
  
"I want to. But then I think that maybe I'd be overstepping boundaries and making it harder on both of us than it already is."  
  
Both fall into silence, not knowing what to say in response to the harsh truth of that statement. He changes the subject. "Tell me about your day."  
  
In her small bedroom in Stars Hollow, she allows her face to show the tiny smile struggling to shine through. What's the harm, it's not like he can see her. God, she misses him. The time spent waiting between his emails and phone calls is literally like the time spent waiting for her next breath of air. She starts talking about coffee and her mother. Neither is really listening to what she has to say.   
  
Tristin settles back into his bed, the phone tucked comfortably next to his ear. He lets the steady tone of her voice lull him into a near unconscious state. Her voice washes over him like ocean waves gently rippling over a sandy shore.   
  
Rory hears his breathing become deeper and more regular. "Tris, hang up the phone."  
  
"Don't want to," he mumbles, almost incoherently.  
  
"Rest now. I love you." She says the words without even realizing it.  
  
"Love you too," he slurs, not picking up on her slip.  
  
She hears a gentle click, then silence. She slowly returns the phone to its cradle, reluctant to end the phone call. Then she snuggles into her bed. She leaves for Harvard tomorrow. She hopes that the feeling she has inside of her at this very moment will stay with her through the night and through the next four years. She closes her eyes and sleeps.  
  
Tristin dreams of her voice. He can see it rise and fall. He sees every emotion in every color of the rainbow...the bright yellow of her happiness and the deep red of her passion. The tranquil blue of her late night conversations and the rich brown that signifies excitement over another particularly great cup of coffee. When he wakes up the next morning, the echoes of the dream resonate loudly through his mind. He hears her, loud and clear. "Rest now. I love you."  
  
  
  
  



	3. is A Gift

Disclaimer: I briefly quote Shakespeare's Sonnet 73...but only the last two lines.  
  
A/N: This update is for all the lovely folks at Fan Forum. You guys rock!  
  
I Miss You  
Chapter 3: (is) A Gift  
  
Tristin tips back his desk chair and props his feet up on his desk. Today is a very special day. Her nineteenth birthday. He tries not to think about what he was doing a year ago on this very day. But he fails. He can't help remembering, given the amount of time and planning he had done to ensure that everything would be perfect for the big day. They had been together for a little over five months at the time. He had wanted to do something that would sweep her off her feet, as retribution for the hell he had put her through and to show her exactly how he felt about her. So he had pestered her mother and friends for weeks, trying to get ideas for the perfect birthday gift. All of their suggestions, though heartfelt and guaranteed to do the trick, just didn't seem right. He smiles fondly when he remembers what ended up happening...  
  
***  
  
Nothing was going according to plan. Tristin smacked his forehead in frustration. How much money does he have to pay these incompetant people to get something done right around here? She was going to be here any second. He gave the staff a few instructions before returning to his post by the window.   
  
After days of agonizing, he had finally decided on something relatively simple for her eighteenth birthday. A nice candlelit dinner in the gazebo in Stars Hollow. Unfortunately, that plan would not be happening, due to a freak accident involving a bonfire at Stars Hollow High's pep rally. Tristin didn't fully understand it himself. Rory had been unable to contain hysterical laughter when she tried to tell him what exactly had happened. At any rate, the bonfire had come only a few days before her birthday, leaving Tristin scrambling around looking for a Plan B. Plan B had come in the form of a private movie viewing of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in a meadow under the stars in the outskirts of Stars Hollow. Plan B had to be scrapped when claps of thunder interrupted fourth period and continued throughout the afternoon. Which left Plan C. Which was currently not shaping up to be any better than the first two failed attempts. He buried his face in his hands. Why couldn't everything have worked out? Maybe God liked to see him suffer.   
  
Through the heavy drapes, he saw her walk up to the front door of his house. Alright. This was it. The door bell rang. He paused at the door for a few seconds, not wanting her to know he had been peeking through the windows for the last fifteen minutes, awaiting her arrival. When he finally opened the door, he had on his cocky grin. "Where's my birthday kiss?"  
  
Rory smiled, remembering the verbal sparring from the last birthday he been in attendance for. "It's my birthday."   
  
"So it is." He stepped forward and captured her lips with his own. "Ready for your present?"  
  
"It's not a stripper jumping out of a cake, right?"  
  
"Ouch, you wound me."  
  
She walked into the entryway as he took her coat. "So where's the big surprise you've been obsessing over for the last week?" she teased.  
  
"Right this way." Tristin led her to the main dining room. The table had been set for an intimate dinner. The scent of fresh flowers permeated the room. Candlelight cast merry shadows flickering on the walls. He shifted from foot to foot, anticipating her reaction.  
  
"Oh, Tristin," she breathed. "This is beautiful."  
  
He relaxed. He leaned over to give her another kiss. And was interrupted by a loud alarm. "What the hell..."  
  
"It's the smoke detectors! Is there something burning in here?"  
  
Tristin's eyes bugged out. "Uh oh..." He rushed into the kitchen. Black smoke was coming from the oven. He hurriedly turned off the oven and opened the door. More black smoke billowed out into the kitchen. He coughed and fanned the air in front of him with an oven mitt. A litany of curses poured from his mouth.   
  
Rory stood back, trying to hide a grin of amusement. "Dinner, I presume?"  
  
Tristin sighed. Plan C, down the tubes. "I don't think I am meant to give you an extremely romantic and meaningful gift tonight. Sorry, you'll have to wait until next year."   
  
"Not so fast, mister. Come with me."  
  
Tristin took the burned chicken out of the oven and set it on top of the oven. He opened the windows in the expansive kitchen before following. "Where are we going?"  
  
"A little birdie told me about the original plan for tonight. That's where I want to celebrate my birthday with you."  
  
***  
  
They had ended up driving to Stars Hollow. They made a quick pit stop at Luke's to pick up some burgers and coffee then continued on foot to the gazebo. Sitting in the crumbling gazebo under the stars, certain it was about to fall, Tristin remembers thinking there was no place on earth he'd rather be. When it had come time for him to give her his present, he had known for sure that heaven existed and was indeed within his reach. When she had seen his gift, a beautiful leather bound volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, the look in her eyes had shown Tristin the way to Utopia. And he had taken it, no regrets.  
  
"This is a gift I will never forget," she had promised solemnly.  
  
He hopes now that it is true. It has been a week since he last talked to her. She is doing well at Harvard, thriving in its prestigious classrooms. He loves Princeton. But he misses her. He will not call her tonight. This is not good for us, he lectures himself. I have to put her behind me so she can be my future. He turns off his desk light and sits in the dark.  
  
She is tired. Probably a result of being awoken in the wee hours of the morning by her insane mother, all for the sake of tradition. She smiles affectionately. She is nineteen today. She feels no different. The constant ache is still there, will always be there...until someday. She opens the book and reads, feeling that the words written centuries ago summarize her life so accurately. "This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long." She shuts the book and sets it back in its place on her night stand. She falls asleep thinking of him.  
  
  



	4. i didn't think Could Be Real

A/N: I suspect I may be moving things along a little too fast, but my poor Trory heart cried out for a happy ending (though it's only temporary for now.) Not to worry, plenty of Trory angst down the road, to be followed immediately by sunshine and rainbows.  
  
I Miss You  
Chapter 4: (i didn't think) Could Be Real  
  
  
  
Tristin sits on the steps in front of a towering arch one afternoon in early November. In his hand dangles a copy of The Trial and Death of Socrates by Plato. He can't bring himself to open it, knowing that the second he tries to read it, he will doze off. So he contents himself with watching the other Princeton students meander around the campus, caught up in their own trials and tribulations. He leans back, stretching his body over the sun warmed steps. His elbows find the step behind him and he props himself up. He takes in the brightly hued trees sprinkled around the campus and the way the wind gently rustles the leaves on the ground. He loves this time of year.  
  
He checks his watch. The football game against Harvard starts in only a few short hours. Rory should be arriving any second. He really should get back to his dorm to meet her, but he is feeling apprehensive. This will be the first time he has seen her since arriving at college. He wonders if anything has changed. He still loves her, as he always will. He hasn't been able to put her behind him. He is slowly discovering himself, the real Tristin Dugrey, the man that had never been able to emerge back in Hartford. The real Tristin Dugrey is caring, genuinely interested in people. He loves to laugh. He loves walking outside during rainstorms, letting the cleansing drops purify his weary soul. But Rory already knows all this. She had discovered the real Tristin Dugrey long before Tristin himself had any inkling of his existence.   
  
He feels a tap on his shoulder. His head swivels and he finds himself staring into a pair of beautifully intense blue eyes.  
  
"Rory!" he exclaims delightedly. He jumps to his feet and engulfs her in a hug.   
  
She wraps her arms around his torso and leans into the familiar embrace. "Hey there smart boy!"  
  
"I was just about to go back to my room to wait for you. How did you know where to find me?"  
  
"Your roommate pointed me in the right direction."  
  
"I'm so happy to see you." He buries his nose in the crook of her neck and wraps his arms around her more tightly.   
  
"Right back atcha."  
  
He reluctantly pulls back, realizing the embrace would not stay friendly for long. "Hey, you want to grab some coffee? There's a Starbucks across the street."  
  
She smiles. "You know me too well."  
  
***  
  
Ten cups of coffee and two hours later, they finally get to the heart of the matter. "Have you met anyone else?" she asks quietly. She holds her breath, fearing the answer she is about to hear might kill her.  
  
"Of course not," he responds emphatically.   
  
She visibly relaxes and sucks in a deep breath of relief.  
  
"Have you?" He asks the question, but he already knows the answer. She hasn't met anyone. Neither is ready to move on. Neither wants to.   
  
"No." One word spoken, so many emotions conveyed.  
  
The love in his eyes shines as brightly as it ever did before.   
  
"Why are we apart?" she whispers.  
  
"I'm beginning to forget," he answers honestly.   
  
"So what does this mean for us?"  
  
There is a few beats of silence. They both sit back in their chairs and sip their coffee. "What are you thinking?" she finally asks.  
  
He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. "I love you. And it's hard being away from you."  
  
"I'm sensing a big 'but' here."  
  
"Okay, so we haven't met anyone else. But this doesn't change the fact that we're far away from each other geographically."  
  
"Do you doubt that we could make it work?"  
  
"I hope we could. I'm just afraid that if we allow ourselves to be together now, it'll be a huge mistake. Look at it this way," he said, reaching for her hand. "You've only been in two relationships and I've only been in one."  
  
Rory snorted.  
  
"One serious one," he amended.  
  
"Do you really think that we are so naive when it comes to relationships that we don't know real love when we see it?"  
  
"Rory, I believe with all my heart that what we have is real. Before I met you, the idea of love...I didn't think it could be real. With you, there is no doubt in my mind that it is real. And I don't want to give up what we have."  
  
"Tris, I love you too. I know we agreed to try to find ourselves away from each other, but in all honesty, I can't see the point of it anymore. I couldn't put you behind me if I tried."  
  
"So what do we do now?"  
  
"I don't know." He runs his fingers through his hair, spiking it up in all directions. "I want to be with you. But that doesn't change the fact that we're states apart."   
  
"We can make it work. I know we can."  
  
He drinks in the sight of her, seeing the optimistic expression and the stubborn chin set in determination. He believes.  
  
He reaches across the small table and tugs her closer to the middle. He lovingly caresses her chin, then leans in to kiss her. They never make it to the football game that day.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: This is nowhere near the end. I'm including the lyrics to "I Miss You" so you can vaguely see where I might be heading with this fic.  
  
I Miss You-Incubus  
  
To see you when I wake up  
is a gift I didn't think could be real.  
To know that you feel the same as I do  
is a three-fold, utopian dream.  
You do something to me that I can't explain.  
So would I be out of line if I said,  
I miss you (?).  
  
I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.  
You have only been gone ten days, but already I'm wasting away.  
I know I'll see you again  
whether far or soon.  
But I need you to know that I care   
and I miss you.  
  



	5. To Know

I Miss You  
Chapter 5: To Know  
  
  
He finishes packing his suitcase for the trip home. The fall semester of his sophomore year is over and now it's time to return to Hartford for Christmas break. He is looking forward to it. It has been a little less than a month since he has seen Rory. She is probably already home in Stars Hollow. He pictures her curled up on her bed reading, or sitting at the counter at Luke's drinking coffee with her mother.   
  
The past year has been hard but well worth it. After they had finally given up and admitted the futility of trying not to love each other that memorable afternoon in November, they had committed themselves to an exclusive, long-distance relationship. The result? A year's worth of memories he wouldn't trade for the world. And still going strong.  
  
Lately though, they haven't been able to see each other as frequently as they would have liked. Because each is weighed down with increasingly harder courses as well as being forced to focus on their respective majors, time is a luxury they don't always have. But now they are on winter break. A whole month of freedom. He can see her as much as he wants. And he's looking forward to every second of it.  
  
***  
  
He stands on her porch, poised to knock. He is startled when the door is flung open and she throws himself into his arms. "Hey! I missed you so much!"  
  
He smiles into her hair and gives her a bear hug. "How much did you miss me, Mary? Because I know a few ways you could show me how much..." He gives her his best leer.  
  
She smacks him in the arm and groans. Then she lowers her voice seductively. "Come inside and take your coat off."  
  
They step over the threshold and are immediately accosted by an exuberant Lorelai. "Howdy, stranger," she drawls in the way of greeting. "Haven't seen you around these here parts for a long time."  
  
"I was roping me come cattle out in Princeton," he grins.  
  
"Do they really have cows in Princeton?" asks Lorelai, dropping the facade. "I've always wanted to go cow tipping. But then Rory reminds me that tipped over cows stay tipped over and can't get up and the poor farmer is stuck trying to push up a cow just because I wanted to have a little fun. And then I realize that I probably wouldn't be able to tip a cow over anyway, not unless I had a lot of help or got really fat, but the getting fat thing would take a while and I don't know many other people who would actually want to go cow tipping."  
  
Tristin stares at her in amazement. "I can't believe you said that all in one breath."   
  
Lorelai grins. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? Give me a hug!"  
  
"Mo-om!" Rory sighs.  
  
"What? I'm just giving Tristin a hearty 'Welcome home, we missed you, Merry Christmas' hug."  
  
"If you don't mind," she says good naturedly, "I'd like to go make out with my boyfriend now."  
  
Lorelai makes a sweeping gesture towards the living room. "Well please, don't let me keep you. I'll just go help Luke with dinner in the kitchen."  
  
"More like annoy Luke while he's trying to cook dinner, keep you from burning the house down, and fending off your verbal abuse all at the same time."  
  
"He's a man of many talents." With that, she bounces cheerfully into the kitchen. "Lu-uke! Entertain me!"  
  
"Poor Luke," Rory smiles sympathetically.  
  
"Hey, he had to know what he was getting into when he married her."  
  
"Oh, he did," Rory assured him. "That's why he loves her."  
  
Tristin waggled his eyebrows up and down. "Want to go make out now?"  
  
"Okay, One Track Mind Guy."  
  
"That's why you love me."   
  
***  
  
Later, after dinner, they trek to the site of the newly rebuilt gazebo, situated in the exact spot where the old one had been. She is planted firmly on his lap, his arms circled tightly around her waist, and his hands are entwined with hers.   
  
"This is nice," she sighs. "I like being in the same state as you."  
  
He pulls her closer to him, so her back is leaning against his chest and her head is resting on his shoulder. He leans down and kisses her cheek. She tilts her head and captures his lips with her own. Disentangling her left hand, she raises it to his face and gently pushes his head down closer to hers. The kiss deepens, his tongue slowly exploring the inner recesses of her mouth. Rory shifts, turning her body and grabbing on to his shoulders. She repositions herself on his lap so they are face to face, without breaking contact. As Rory pulls away, breathless, Tristin's mouth moves lower to suckle at her neck. She tilts her head to the side, allowing him greater access to the smooth skin there. Her arms twine dreamily around his neck and her fingers play with the downy hairs at the base of his scalp. One arms wraps around her lower back, supporting her, while the other traces shapes over her spine. He traces a wet trail back to her mouth and decidedly plants one on her forehead. "I love you," he pants.  
  
"I know," she says smugly.  
  
He chuckles. "Come on," he says, standing up and forcing her to her feet. He grabs her hand and begins to tug her in the direction of her house. "They'll be wondering where we are."   
  
"What do you think your mom and Luke are doing?"  
  
Rory wrinkles her nose. "I don't even want to know..."  
  
Tristin laughs and leads her down the snowy street, back to her house.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. that You Feel the Same As I Do

I'm back! Alright, let's finish this thing. Hey Mafia person, if you're still reading this and you bring it up ever, I will deny all knowledge. =) Cherry, thanks for the word(s) of encouragement. LOL! Sorry it's so pathetically short...unfortunately I tend to be very concise and to the point when I write...I'm really working on that!   
  
  
  
I Miss You   
Chapter 6: (that) You Feel the Same As I Do   
  
  
He lounges on her bed as she studies herself in the mirror. She is already wearing the fairy princess ball gown. She experiments with her curled hair, trying to decide whether to put it up or leave it down. She catches his subtle smirk in the mirror and turns to glare at him playfully.   
  
"Some of us just can't throw on a tux and walk out the door you know."   
  
"Did I say anything?" he asks innocently.   
  
"Your facial expressions need no explanation," she says, rolling her eyes. She fumbles around her dresser, searching for the jeweled clips she knows are there somewhere. "Aha!" she cries triumphantly. "There you are!"   
  
He smiles tenderly at her back and sinks further into the downy softness of her bed. He unsuccessfully tries to suppress a yawn. He hasn't even begun to dress yet. He is still wearing the khakis and collared shirt he arrived in. He allows himself to drift into a light sleep, physically preparing himself for an evening of loud music and dancing.   
  
She catches him dozing, but doesn't wake him. It's not just any guy who will fly up just to take you to something as silly as a spring formal, she reminds herself. She hadn't even wanted to go, not really, but he had talked her into it over the phone. "It'll be fun," he had promised. "A chance to let loose and have a good time."   
  
Her mother had been thrilled when she had called and told her she needed a dress. She had driven all the way to Cambridge on a whim one weekend to take Rory dress shopping. Gone are the days of her mother making her dresses. Ever since she and Sookie had opened up the B&B, free time had become a luxury.   
  
She carefully pins up a few of the curls. When she is satisfied with the effect, she fastens a glittering strand of gems, a Valentine's Day present from him, around her neck. She is ready to go. Except...time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.   
  
She sweeps over to the side of the bed, biting her lip to keep from giggling. This is too funny. Shouldn't he be the one to wake her with a kiss? She settles herself on the edge of the bed. He stirs, but sleeps on. She drinks in the sight of him. His lips are parted slightly in sleep and the amazing blue eyes are hidden behind his closed eyelids. He has a content, peaceful expression on his face. She pauses briefly, then leans over and lays one on him. He responds immediately. He begins to pull her down to him as his tongue slowly explores her mouth.   
  
"Oh no you don't," she says, pulling away. "I'm not going to redo my hair because of you."   
  
He pouts, but his eyes light up in amusement.   
  
"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty," she chirps. "Rise and shine."   
  
He immediately rolls out of bed and retrieves his garment bag off a chair. As he begins to shut the bathroom door, she calls "Wash your face! You're wearing more lipstick than I am!"   
  
He drags the back of his hand across his lips and inspects it. "I'll be out in five minutes," he predicts.   
  
True to his word, he emerges five minutes later, lipstick free. He offers her his arm and they depart. "You look beautiful," he whispers in her ear.   
  
"So do you," she smirks.   
  
***   
  
Half an hour later, they gently sway back and forth, in perfect time with the soft ballad. They stand tightly drawn to each other. One arm encircles her waist while the other clasps her hand to his heart. She leans her head against his shoulder and the delicate scent of her hair wafts its way to his nose. He thinks that it's not humanly possible for anyone to love anything as much as he loves the girl in his arms.   
  
As if hearing his thoughts, she lifts her head and looks deeply into his eyes. The rest of the room melts away as their lips meld together in a breathtaking kiss. It goes on forever but is over in a second. They break apart, panting. Tingles shoot up and down his spine and she grabs onto his shoulders to keep her weak knees from giving out. Her face is flushed but her eyes sparkle luminously. He is wearing her lipstick again.   
  
"I think that's a great color on you."   
  
He smiles widely. "C'mere!" He draws her close to him once more. "You take my breath away," he whispers in her ear.   
  
She smiles into his shoulder. "You feel the same as I do."   
  
They dance the night away.   
  
***   
  
Late that night, they return to Rory's room. Tristin is exhausted. He immediately heads for the bed, shedding his jacket and bow tie. Rory heads for the bathroom and emerges in her pajamas. She approaches the bed and sees him sprawled out on top of the blankets. She gently and efficiently removes his shoes and nudges him over to one side. She climbs in beside him. Not two minutes later, he burrows under the covers and snuggles up next to her. He throws one arm possessively over her middle and his legs tangle with hers. His breathes grow deeper and Rory is sure he is asleep. Then he speaks.   
  
"Ror?"   
  
"Hmmm?"   
  
"Do you think we'll always be this happy?"   
  
"I'm counting on it," she replies softly. She sleeps.   
  
  
6/21


	7. is A Threefold Utopian Dream

I Miss You   
Chapter 7: (is) A Three-fold Utopian Dream   
  
  
He stares at the diamond. Its tiny rainbows of light reflect like stars in his eyes. It mocks him from the display window. Should he? What had started as a harmless quest for a birthday present had quickly turned into one of those life altering decisions. He had been standing thoughtfully outside the jewelry shop in Princeton for nearly twenty minutes, trying to justify the purchase.   
  
It is a delicate engagement ring: a gorgeous emerald cut diamond in a platinum setting. It reminds him of her. Though it is certainly beautiful on the outside, the elegant character lying beneath the surface, inherent in its very nature, radiates outward, making it that much more magnificent. He can see himself waking up to her every morning. If he could know that kind of bliss, even for a second, he would die a happy man.   
  
Are they ready for marriage? He knows they are still young and inexperienced in the world. But he would be lying to himself if he said that marriage hasn't been on his mind for quite some time. But they have never discussed it seriously. He continues to debate with himself, on the sidewalk across the street from his college. He does mental calculations in his head. Graduation in three more semesters, or one and a half years. Grad school in two years. He would be twenty four years old if they waited until he was finished with grad school to get married. Unless they just went for it after college graduation, in which case...he shakes his head, clearing his head of those thoughts. How about you ask her first, he scolds himself.   
  
He again eyes the ring in the window. It is calling to him, whispering "Buy me! Buy me!" Who is he to argue? He steps inside the shop, pulling out his wallet.   
  
***   
  
The black velvet jewelry box is nestled safely in the inside pocket of his jacket, next to his heart. It has been in his possession for a little over two weeks. He gets antsy just thinking about it. It has been so hard not to shout from the roof tops that he loves her and wants her to be his wife. It's a good thing her birthday is today, he muses. This thing is burning a hole in my pocket.   
  
He drives up and parks in front of her house. Lorelai is throwing one of her famous birthday bashes. He suspects the entire town is already inside. He takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart. With a sense of purpose, he gets out of his car and walks up to the porch. She throws open the door wearing a tiara. "There you are! Where's my present?"   
  
"You'll have to wait and see," he says with a smug smile.   
  
"Someone's got a secret," she sings.   
  
"You could say that," he shrugs.   
  
***   
  
She works her way through a pile of rapidly disappearing presents. He bides his time, waiting for her to realize that she hasn't received anything from him yet. In the meantime, he shares meaningful glances with Lorelai, who is in on the secret. She catches his eye and gives him the thumbs up. She had been delighted when Tristin had showed her the ring. She still can't get over the idea that her little girl is going to be proposed to on her twenty first birthday.   
  
Rory finishes opening the last present and stands to thank everyone for coming. Lorelai interrupts, motioning for Tristin to come forward. "Sorry sweetie, one more."   
  
Tristin wades through the shredded wrapping paper on the ground and comes to stand in front of her. She gazes at him questioningly as the rest of the guests look on. Swallowing past the growing lump in his throat, he takes her hand in his and drops to one knee.   
  
Her eyes grow wide with shock and her chin drops open. Her hand begins to shake within his. Everyone ceases all conversation immediately, their eyes riveted to the couple before them. He clears his throat self consciously. He looks into her eyes, and suddenly the words pour freely from his heart, of their own will.   
  
"Rory, every time I look at you, I fall in love with you all over again. Every moment I spend with you leaves me wanting more. I want to make you happy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, knowing that no matter what life throws at us, we'll be able to handle it because we have each other. I am hopelessly, head over heels in love with you. Will you marry me?"   
  
He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out the box. He lifts the top, displaying the ring. He looks back up at her and is startled by what he finds. Tears slowly begin to track their way down the smooth skin of her cheeks and her chin quivers. But her eyes...they aren't happy. She looks like a deer caught in headlights.   
  
He feels his heart drop into his stomach. She is going to refuse him. The tiny thought nags him, as she tries to remember how to form words.   
  
Rory is frozen. She hears his beautiful words and the emotion behind him. She knows she is in love with him. But she can't marry him. She isn't ready. There is so much more she wants to accomplish in life before she settles down and commits herself to the life they will have together. She opens her mouth, trying to articulate these thoughts in a way that won't hurt him, but it is impossible. His eyes delve into hers, begging her to say yes. But she can't.   
  
She looks around her. Her friends and relatives are expecting her to say yes. They are holding their breaths in anticipation of the word they think she will say. She feels suffocated in this room, with everyone staring at her waiting for an answer she can't give. Her eyes full of regret, she turns and runs out of the house. After a moment of hesitation, Tristin jumps to his feet and runs after her.   
  
***   
  
He catches up with her a few blocks away from Luke's. "Rory! Rory, wait!" he calls urgently.   
  
She slows to a stop and waits for him to catch up. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying.   
  
"Hey, hey," he says softly, wiping away a stray tear from her face. "What's going on?"   
  
"Tris, I think we need to take a break," she hiccups.   
  
"What? Why? Is it the proposal? I know it's sudden. I'm sorry, I should have discussed this with you first. I'm such an idiot!" he babbles, distressed, knowing that there is more to it than that.   
  
"No, this isn't about you, it's about me. I just need more time. I need space."   
  
"Did I do something wrong? Have your feelings changed? Tell me what I can do to fix this," he begs.   
  
"I still love you," she emphasizes. "But please understand. You want more than I can give you. I'm not ready for marriage yet. I need time to figure out who I am and who I want to be."   
  
"Rory, we've done this already. We tried to stay apart but it only brought us closer together. I know who I am. I know what I want. And that's you."   
  
She smiles at him sadly. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm the one who pushed for us to get back together. You did what you were supposed to do while we were apart, but I didn't. And now I need to fix that."   
  
"So you're breaking up with me?" he asks, his face a mask of pain.   
  
She bites her lip, suddenly unsure of herself. There is no denying she loves him with all of her heart. The proposal had been perfect in every way. His face, nervous yet confident, but so tender and full of love, will forever be imprinted in her memory. And oh God, the ring...But she still isn't ready. "Yes."   
  
His heart breaks. The one scenario that had never occurred to him; he had been so sure she would say yes. His hopes, his three-fold utopian dream, vanish. He fights back the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him, then leans down and places a kiss on her forehead. And he walks away.   
  
  
  
7/21 


	8. You Do Something To Me

I Miss You   
Chapter 8: You Do Something to Me   
  
  
The incessant beeping wakes him from a dreamless sleep. Wearily, he reaches across the bed and smacks the snooze button again. The alarm falls silent. He rolls back over and pulls the blankets up to his nose. He refuses to face the world today. In fact, he would be just peachy if he could stay in bed all day. Maybe tomorrow as well. Forever, in fact.   
  
His roommate yanks the window shade, flooding Tristin's face with light. He flinches.   
  
"Dude, you gotta snap out of it."   
  
"Out of what," he says flatly.   
  
"This," he says, gesturing to books lying unopened on his desk and the dirty clothes littering the floor. "When's the last time you showered? You reek."   
  
Tristin groans. "Man, Steve, I don't need you mothering me. I'm fine. Just let it go."   
  
"The hell you are."   
  
"Just go to class!"   
  
He relents, seeing the pleading look in Tristin's eyes. "Hang in there, buddy. You'll get through this." He grabs his books from his desk and walks out of the door, shooting a sympathetic glance in Tristin's general direction.   
  
Tristin lets out a sigh of relief as the door shuts. Steve means well, but he doesn't know when to leave things alone. He pushes aside his sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He rubs his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. He doesn't remember the last time he's showered, let alone gotten a good nights sleep. Not since...never mind.   
  
It has been a week. He has gone through the motions of going to class, mechanically speaking when spoken to, doing just enough to make others think he is coping. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is hurting, more than he ever thought possible. It is too painful to think about her, to wonder how she is holding up. So he tries not to. Tries, anyway.   
  
He walks over to his dresser and opens his sock drawer. The little black box sits there harmlessly, almost innocently. He picks it up and strokes the velvet, the action somehow soothing him. He doesn't open the box. Almost reverently, he tucks the box back into the drawer, nestling it among his socks and boxers. The tiny indentation in his clothes indicates where the box has been sitting for the past week. Sitting in his clothes, instead of on her finger where it belongs...He slams the drawer shut.   
  
Lorelai had called him a few days ago. She had been deeply concerned. Like Tristin, it had never occurred to her that Rory wouldn't accept. Though on a deeper level, she should have known that her commitment phobic daughter would freak, especially after seeing herself do the same thing many times before, until she finally faced her fears and married Luke. Lorelai feels it in her bones that Rory will come around. The difficult part will be making sure that Tristin doesn't give up before then. So she had called, playing the part of comforting mother very well, despite the fact that she had no obligations or duties to do so.   
  
That had been the only time he had allowed someone to see how much he is truly hurting. He had poured his heart out, letting the tears flow freely over the phone. And she had understood, because she understands the depth of their love for each other. She hadn't really mentioned Rory and he hadn't asked. It is better that way.   
  
Looking around him, he sees the evidence of his heartbreak: his unmade bed, his untouched homework, his dirty laundry. Sighing, he gathers his clothes, intending to put in a load of laundry. He can't go on like this. She only needs time. He can last until then.   
  
***   
  
Two months pass. He hasn't seen or heard from her since her birthday. Still, he doesn't call her, and he doesn't call Lorelai, pretending to exchange pleasantries while fishing for information about her. He respects her need for space. He vents by writing in his journal, a habit he picked up to deal with his scarred emotions.   
  
His friends continually try to set him up with other girls, smart pretty girls who they hope will lessen Rory's hold on his feelings. He stubbornly resists, insisting on remaining faithful to her. She will come around. He knows it.   
  
***   
  
His roommate has talked him into attending a friend's pre-Christmas party, the last big event before finals and the end of the semester. He goes, figuring it will do him good to put everything out of his mind for a few hours. That plan is shot to hell when he walks in the door and catches sight of Lane, there to see Henry, he hypothesizes. He stands where he is, deciding if it would be better to brush past her and pretend he doesn't see her or go talk to her. His indecision is solved for him when she catches sight of him and begins to make her way over.   
  
"Hey, Tristin," she says, her eyes sparkling with pre-holiday cheer.   
  
"Hey Lane," he says lightly. "You look great. How have you been doing?"   
  
"I think the question is, how are you doing?" she says seriously.   
  
"About as well as can be expected," he muses. "I'm hanging in there."   
  
She looks at him as if he's grown two heads. "You're okay with this?"   
  
"This is up to Rory," he reminds her. "I'm laying low until she's ready."   
  
Lane tries to suppress the flash of surprise that flickers across her face. She mentally curses herself for revealing more than she intended to.   
  
"And that's not what you are referring to," he says, picking up on her discomfort.   
  
"No, that's what I meant," she says quickly, with a fake smile pasted on her face.   
  
"Lane, what's going on?"   
  
She chuckles nervously. "It's funny you should ask me that, because Henry just told me the funniest story. You're going to love it..."   
  
"Lane," he says wearily, the slightest note of impatience creeping into his tone.   
  
"Rory's seeing someone," she mumbles, almost incoherently.   
  
"She's WHAT!" he yells in surprise. He feels like someone has just punched him in the stomach. He falls silent, digesting this piece of news. "How can she be seeing someone else?" he asks, in a deflated tone.   
  
Lane places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry," she says compassionately. "I thought she told you."   
  
"We haven't spoken since..." he trails off, closing his eyes tightly. "Since her birthday," he finishes, painfully.   
  
They stand in silence, as the party rages around them. Abruptly, he speaks. "I have to go."   
  
"Tristin, wait," Lane begins.   
  
"I have to go," he repeats. He turns back to her. "Have a great time. Tell Henry I'll see him in class."   
  
He makes a beeline for the door. He is stopped by a gorgeous blonde. "Going somewhere?" she asks in a sultry voice.   
  
"Out," he says flatly.   
  
"Want company?"   
  
He appraises her coolly. "Fine."   
  
She links her arm through his and they walk out the door.   
  
Lane shakes her head sadly. She hopes he isn't going to do something he'll regret later.   
  
***   
  
She leads him back to her room. He enters, feeling discomfort and a sense of dread. She walks over to him and leans in close. She reaches up to kiss him, but he backs away. "I can't do this," he says lamely. Even though Rory might be able to move on so quickly, he can't. He runs from the room, leaving the blonde staring after him in confusion.   
  
***   
  
As soon as he enters his room, he walks straight to his dresser. He pulls out the box. But this time, he looks at the ring. He stares at the diamond, suddenly feeling the anger and hurt take over. He goes on a rampage, knocking the piles of papers on his desk to the floor. Sheets of white go hurdling through the air, mimicking the first snowfall of the season. He kicks the bed and lets out a yell of frustration. He doesn't even notice when the tears come, wiping them away angrily. How could she do this? And not even tell him? He falls to his knees, suddenly drained of the energy to stand. He clenches the ring in his fist, until the shape of the diamond is imprinted in his palm. He cries.   
  
  
8/21 


	9. that I Can't Explain

I Miss You  
Chapter 9: (that) I Can't Explain  
  
  
He kisses her softly on the lips and she feels nothing. She knows that he hopes that she will ask him to stay, but she will not. She does not love him. He realizes that she is no longer paying attention to him and resigns himself to leaving. There is no use sticking around when she gets like this. He gets up and grabs his coat. "Happy Valentine's Day," he says, as he closes the door behind him.  
  
She is snapped back to reality with the gentle slamming of the door. She is not sorry that he is gone. It's not like she is too attached to him anyway. Just the most recent in the long line of guys she has dated and broken up with since October. In high school, she had never thought that she would be one to engage in meaningless relationships; she had believed that a relationship was not worth it if there was no feeling behind it. Now she knows that too much feeling can be a bad thing as well. So she enters into the superficial relationships, holding them at arms length while fruitlessly searching for something she cannot name. She does not even know to describe it. All that she knows is she has not been happy for a long time.  
  
Where did she go wrong? John is a nice enough guy. But too serious. And too short. He is not funny enough. He does not make her laugh. She feels nothing when she is around him. John is not Tristin. It all boils down to that. For the past four months, she has been unconsciously comparing every subsequent guy with him. And no one measures up. Not even close.   
  
Funny how you never realize what you have until you throw it all away, she muses bitterly.   
  
Not true, a tiny voice long suppressed cries out.  
  
Great, now I'm having conversations with myself, she thinks.  
  
The voice persists. You can never appreciate what you have if it comes too easily. The twists and turns make life and love more meaningful.  
  
Rory rolls her eyes. Since when did I start spouting really bad philosophical quotes? she wonders.  
  
Since you broke his heart, and yours along with it. You just didn't realize it at the time.  
  
It's not my fault I wasn't ready, she counters.  
  
But you were. You just didn't know it. You're making excuses. You did what you always do. You ran. Ran from him, the one person you can never put behind you.  
  
She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind from the schizophrenic thoughts. When had things gone so horribly wrong? She told him she only needed time. So why had she started dating? That definitely was not the understanding. And why hadn't she called him?   
  
You ran, the voice whispers tauntingly.  
  
That's ridiculous. I love him. Why would I run from him?  
  
How the hell am I supposed to know? Why does anyone do the things they do?  
  
Real helpful, she tells herself sarcastically.  
  
If you want help, help yourself.  
  
Oh, just leave me alone, she growls irritably.  
  
Make me!  
  
"Shut up!" she says aloud. She realizes that she is probably a step away from the loony bin and laughs over the absurdity of it all.  
  
Slowly, the smile fades from her face. It is Valentine's Day. How is she spending it? She is talking to herself, in her empty room, laughing over the fact that she has probably lost the love of her life. She is overcome with an overwhelming sensation of self pity and helplessness.  
  
She wishes Lane hadn't told her of her encounter with him in December. Then at least she could have disillusioned herself with thoughts of him faithfully waiting for her, not knowing or caring that she was the one had messed up. But she knows that isn't the case. He thought she had moved on. So he had comforted himself with a slutty blonde. She doesn't want to know now many more blondes or brunettes or red heads have comforted him since.   
  
Be fair! The voice rears its annoying little head. You know it isn't like that.  
  
Oh, do I?  
  
That's not who he is and you know it. He's the easy target because you don't want to accept responsibility for your actions.  
  
I'm getting really sick of you, she warns.  
  
Then do something about it, the voice challenges daringly. Look at yourself. Are you really happy with your life?  
  
She ponders, really debating the answer.  
  
If you were, you wouldn't even have to ask, it pipes up.  
  
I know, she admits.   
  
Now we're getting somewhere, it says with relief.  
  
I'm not happy. There, I said it. Are you satisfied?  
  
No. Are you?  
  
Well what do you want me to do about it? she asks in exasperation.  
  
What will make you happy?  
  
Coffee.  
  
Be serious!  
  
Tristin, she amends.  
  
Then go get him back.  
  
It's not that easy.  
  
Why not? it asks, diplomatically.  
  
I wasn't faithful. I'm not even sure where we stand with each other anymore. I don't know if he still loves me or if he's moved on. And I'm still not ready for marriage.  
  
You're lying.  
  
I honestly don't feel ready. I can't lie about the way I feel...especially to myself, she says pointedly.  
  
Why aren't you ready?   
  
I can't explain.  
  
Try.  
  
I want to see the world. I want to be independent. I want to answer to no one but myself. I want to stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower and ride a gondola through the canals of Venice. I want...  
  
Whoa, hold up. That's plenty right there.  
  
A light bulb suddenly clicks. "Study abroad!"  
  
Huh?  
  
I'll study abroad for a semester. I'll come back with new perspective. I'll either be ready to marry him or I'll be ready to say good bye. Either way, it's better than this.  
  
With a newfound goal, she sits at her computer and starts pulling information.  
  
***  
  
She receives the acceptance letter to the Harvard Study Abroad Program three months later, at the end of the semester. It has been seven months since her last birthday. Seven months since the last time she saw or spoke to him. She hears rumors, snatches of gossip about him. Only recently has he begun to start dating again. Funny, since she has stopped. She refuses to partake in the cold, emotionless act of dating guys who mean nothing to her. So she doesn't.  
  
She leaves for Italy, her first choice locale, in September. She can't wait. Time to start living again, she tells herself resolutely.  
  
The tiny, once annoying voice cheers her on.   
  
  
  
9/21 


	10. so would I be Out of Line

I Miss You  
Chapter 10: (so would i be) Out of Line  
  
  
  
He impatiently adjusts the knot of his tie so it is choking him slightly less than before. Summer in New York City is no time to be subjected to decorative nooses. He runs his fingers through his already tousled hair, the heat only augmenting his barely controlled temper. He curses his luck. When he had first received the invitation, he had been honored that he had been singled out. The annual gathering of Ivy League schools at a convention hall in New York City, mostly to try to one up each other with the achievements of their respective students, is basically one big public relations circus. Each school parades its best and brightest in front of the college board, hoping to be looked upon favorably, thus attracting more desirable applicants.  
  
Well, that's all fine and dandy for the schools, but being stuck in a lobby with thousands of other people sucks when the air conditioning decides to take a vacation. The air is heavy with humidity. He feels a line of sweat gathering at the base of his neck. He is in the middle of reaching up to wipe it away when someone jostles him from behind, spilling his drink. His patience gone and his temper flaring, he whips around to give the offender a piece of his mind.  
  
"Dammit! Watch where..." He breaks off abruptly in the middle of his sentence. For a second, his gaze becomes softer, almost tender. Then he remembers the pain she has caused him, the hurt he still feels, and his eyes become hard and icy. Surprisingly, he says nothing more. He spins on his heel, turning his back to her, and walks away.  
  
She feels like someone has punched her, knocking the breath from her body. He is the last person she had expected to run into. Literally. But the damage is done. She stares at his retreating back wistfully. She fervently wishes that she could feel anger toward him for his rude dismissal of her presence. But she cannot, not after what she has done to him. Not even a snide comment did he direct to her. Nothing to show her that some fiber in his being cares for her one way or the other. Just cold indifference.   
  
It is the first time in nearly a year that she has laid eyes on him. In the split second that their eyes locked, she had felt as if nothing has changed, as if what they lost could be regained. But then his eyes had frozen over, slamming the door and leaving her out in the cold. Despite the heat and humidity, she shivers. She wants to grab his shoulders and shake him, to beg the warm, caring man she loves to resurface. But maybe he is gone for good. She has no one but herself to blame.   
  
He resists the urge to look over his shoulder and see if she is still there. How dare she. How dare she waltz back into his life like that. No warning. No reason. Just because. Ten months, no contact, then BOOM. There she is, standing in front of him and staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Only not so innocent, he thinks cynically. He tugs at his collar, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. If only he could escape. Unfortunately, there is still the dinner and presentation to get through. He squares his shoulders and stands up a little taller. He will get through this.  
  
***  
  
She picks at her salad moodily. She is seated at a large round table with her peers from Harvard. Her good mood and elation at being chosen to attend have evaporated. She doesn't believe her luck. Two weeks, she repeats to herself. It is her mantra. Two more weeks until she is out of the country. Two weeks of torture, until she can escape to a country far, far away. It doesn't help that the Princeton table is a scant three feet away. By some bizarre twist of fate, she is seated almost directly across from him, though two tables separate them. She casts her eyes up, down, sideways, anywhere but straight ahead. But it doesn't help. Damn peripheral vision.   
  
He calmly appraises her as she agitatedly taps her fork against her plate. Looks like she isn't any happier to see him than he is to see her. He wonders why she is here, what she has done to merit the invitation. Like it or not, she still intrigues him. It drives him crazy that after everything they have gone through, everything they have done to hurt each other, he is still drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. When will he ever learn?  
  
***  
  
He stands as he is acknowledged, grinning easily with the fake smile plastered on his face. She would recognize the fake smile from a mile away. The 'good little rich boy' smile, as he used to say. Tristin Dugrey, president of the student government and captain of the lacrosse team. Business major, with a 4.8 GPA. All around golden boy and campus stud. She claps her hands politely. It is what is expected of her.  
  
He mumbles under his breath while they applaud. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at their superficial acceptance. Only one person remains unimpressed and not fooled. There she sits, smiling neutrally while her eyes size him up. It figures. She is still the one who sees right through him.  
  
***  
  
His heart beats a little faster when it is her turn. He hadn't known that she is leaving for Italy in two weeks. But then, how could he? He isn't exactly up to speed with her life. He hasn't been for a very long time. Rory Gilmore. Journalism major, 4.0 GPA. Accepted to the prestigious study abroad program at Harvard, leaving for Rome in two weeks.  
  
It puzzles him. He wonders why he cares that she is leaving. If he hadn't known that she would be leaving, it wouldn't have affected him. But he does know, and he cares. Cruel Fate must be getting some kicks at his expense. Why has she been brought back into his life for such a brief encounter?  
  
***  
  
She stands at the curb, trying unsuccessfully to hail a cab. The sun is setting, taking the suffocating heat with it. She is glad to be free of that stuffy, torturous room. Free of him, free of her guilt. She wonders if she will ever forgive herself for destroying their relationship. She senses someone standing too close to her, invading her space. She turns her head and is not surprised to see him standing there. She didn't believe for a second that he would let her go away unscathed.   
  
"What do you want?" she asks, more resigned than rude.  
  
He stiffens at her tone. "Nothing," he says, in a deceptively friendly voice. "Just wondering if you've stomped on anyone else's heart lately."  
  
She accepts his insult, letting out the breath she had been holding. "I deserved that."  
  
"Damn right," he counters, his eyes flashing.  
  
"Was there anything else? If not, I'd really like to go back to my room and get some sleep."  
  
"Is it so hard to find something to say to me Rory? Well, maybe that isn't such a valid question. You proved that by failing to talk to me in how many months is it? Ten?"  
  
"You know, phones work both ways." She is beginning to get angry, taking offense to his unrelentingly confrontational manner.  
  
"Yeah? So does fidelity."  
  
"You are so out of line," she spits out angrily.  
  
"How?" he questions, raising his voice. "You were the one who started dating other guys!"  
  
"We broke up! Or did you forget that part?"  
  
He bites back his retort and falls silent. "I guess I did." Without another word, he walks away from her for the second time that day.  
  
She feels the tears start to well up in her eyes. She backs away from the curb and starts the long walk to her hotel. Doesn't he realize how sorry she is? How much she longs to go back to that night and say yes? She hardly notices when the skies open up, pouring fat drops of rain over the city. Her face is already wet.  
  
  
10/21 


	11. If I Said I Miss You

I Miss You  
Chapter 11: If I Said I Miss You  
  
She has fallen into a funk. Three days after New York City and she still can't get that five minute conversation out of her head. When she had applied to the study abroad program months ago, she had never taken into consideration that he might not want her back. That he might have moved on. But from the moment she bumped into him to the sight of him turning his back on her that second time, she had felt the distinct, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach warning her that things could never be the same between them again.  
  
She knows in her heart that she did cheat on him, despite the acknowledged break up. The relationship they had shared had gone far deeper than any words that might end it. Their feelings were far too powerful to be flicked off like a light switch; the unspoken understanding between them was that she would take a time out and discover what she wants in life, not date other guys. Maybe if she had discovered that she could fall in love with someone else then the dating might have been understandable. But that had not been the case. She knew she wanted Tristin, that she would never find someone who was more perfect of a match.   
  
It's not as if she had walked away that night plotting to break his heart and make them both miserable. She had fully intended to examine her feelings, to come to some sort of conclusion. But somewhere along the way, something had happened. She realized that she had been terrified, of him, of them, of the future in general. She had looked into his eyes and found herself falling head first into a love so unconditional and pure that it had frightened her. Was she ready to make the same commitment he was declaring to her? Ten months ago, the answer had been no. But today...today the answer had changed.   
  
Too late. Time had changed her, and time had changed him as well. She had let too much time fly by. Time had taunted him, each passing second feeding his fear that she no longer loved him. The confirmation that she was indeed seeing other people had broken him. Why would he question it? She had given him no reason to believe otherwise. Too late.  
  
Even in that five minute conversation, did she give him any sign that she still cared? Every word she had said to him sounded hostile and petulant, even to her own ears. What he must have been thinking, if he still cared by that point...  
  
She can't let things between them end like this. Something in her heart cries out for one last chance to mend the tattered remains of what might have been, what still could be. But how can she even begin to explain what she is thinking? Her thoughts are too muddled, too disjointed.   
  
Slowly, she opens her desk drawer and removes a sheet of creamy white stationary. She stares at the blank page for a few minutes, wondering how she can fit all she needs to say on one sheet of paper, or ten sheets of paper for that matter. Picking up her pen, she delicately cradles it between her thumb and forefinger. Taking a deep breath, she begins the painstaking process of filling up the page.  
  
***   
  
Dear Tristin,  
  
There aren't enough words for me to tell you how sorry I am. My actions were inexcusable, and I will understand if you decide that maybe we are better off apart. I can't explain the reasons why I have been ignoring you these last few months. I never intended to leave things the way I left them and I don't fully understand myself why I allowed them to happen.  
  
Ten months ago, when you presented me with my birthday present, I was not ready to embark on the journey that you had proposed. I loved you then, as I still love you now, but for some reason, as I stood there awed by the power of your emotions, I found myself terrified...terrified that I was incapable of that overwhelming, wholehearted type of love. Instead of being honest with you and telling you my worries and my doubts, I hid them from you. And that is something that I will never forgive myself for.   
  
I fear that you have moved on, that you no longer love me. Though I can't blame you for that, I ask you one question: Would anything change if I said I miss you? I wasn't ready then, but time has changed that. Has time changed you?  
  
  
All my love,  
Rory   
  
***  
  
The unassuming little envelope is tucked among the rest of his mail. He avoids looking at it for all of five seconds before the curiosity overwhelms him. He knows instinctively who it is from. There is just something about it that has Rory Gilmore stamped all over it.   
  
He turns it over and over in his hands. It looks harmless enough. But the right combination of words from her always had the power to bend him to her will. He had never been able to deny her anything, and he isn't anxious to see if that still holds true.  
  
Is there anything she could possibly say that he would be interested in? No, he firmly decides. He tosses it in the trash can and sorts through the rest of his mail.   
  
His eyes wander back to the contents of the trash can of their own will. Maybe it's a nasty letter, in response to the harsh words they had exchanged a few days earlier. If that is the case, what could be the harm in reading the letter? It would only serve to help him get over her. On the other hand, what if it's not a nasty letter, but the opposite? Can he survive being hurt by her again?   
  
He reaches into the trashcan and retrieves the letter. He isn't ready to open it, not yet. But perhaps later...He folds the slightly crumpled paper and sticks it in his shirt pocket.   
  
Long enough! He eagerly reaches into his pocket and tears into the envelope. A wave of nostalgia washes over him at the sight of her familiar handwriting. Her small, precise script is the same as it was four years ago, when it covered his history textbooks and doodled in his calculus notebook.  
  
His shoulders tighten and his jaw clenches when he reads the first few sentences. Does he really want to rehash all this? Just as he had started getting his life back on track, she comes strolling back into it. The question is, will he let her? He plows through the rest of the letter stoically, vowing to read the whole thing before he passes judgement.  
  
Slowly, he refolds the letter and sticks it back in the envelope, only to take it out and read it again. And again. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. Is he seeing correctly? She wants him back. She still loves him, even after the way he had treated her at the dinner.  
  
He folds his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. She had been afraid of him, afraid that she hadn't been capable of loving him fully and completely. She hadn't trusted him enough to surrender her heart. Without trust, can there be love? No. She claims that she is ready now, but if she were to stumble with insecurities later on, would she tell him or leave him again? Though he suspects that he will always love her, he cannot bring himself to devote himself fully to someone who is not willing to take the same risk. Having made up his mind, he takes grim satisfaction in knowing that he is finally finished with that chapter of his life.  
  
***  
  
She receives no response to her letter. She knows that the decision has been made. It is over. At least she knows. Maybe someday she will be able to put it behind her.   
  
  
  
11/21  
  
  
No death threats please! Despite appearances, there is still more to this story. The road to redemption is never easy... 


	12. I See Your Picture

I Miss You  
Chapter 12: I See Your Picture  
  
A few days after receiving the letter, he sits down to drink his morning coffee and pores over the Hartford Chronicle. He peruses the front page, and, finding nothing of interest, skims through the rest of the paper. On page eleven, a blurb on the society page captures his attention.  
  
She is the last person he expects to see, especially after his decision. But there she is, in all her black and white newsprint glory, staring up at him from the paper, even before he has a chance to finish his first cup of coffee. Nevertheless, he finds his eyes tracing the words next to the picture. Lorelai Gilmore, daughter of Christopher Hayden and Lorelai Gilmore, granddaughter of Richard and Emily Gilmore of the Hartford Gilmores. Senior Journalism Major at Harvard University studying abroad in Rome. Set to leave in one week.   
  
He recognizes the picture that is in the paper. It is her senior portrait from high school. He remembers standing behind the photographer, making goofy faces to ensure that her smile would be genuine. He had laughed when she had told him that she wanted him to be there. He, of course, had expertly posed and summoned a very convincing smile for the uptight, unbearably formal photographs. But it hadn't been as easy for her. So he had helped her through it, in much the same manner that they had seen each other through countless other obstacles that year.  
  
He folds the newspaper carefully, making sure each crease is perfectly straight. He examines his fingertips distastefully, taking note of the ink smudges that stain his skin. He carelessly rubs them against his clean pants, enjoying the way it mars the pristine perfection. There is no perfection, he reminds himself cynically. Everything, everyone, has flaws.   
  
He rolls his eyes at his own bitter thoughts. Only he could turn something as innocuous as a few ink smudges into the downfall of mankind. Maybe he isn't handling this as well as he thinks.  
  
He dismisses that thought from his head. He is coping as well as can be expected. He can't bring himself to be with her, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care for her. He will always care for her, because she will always be the one who convinced him that love does exist. If there is one thing he has learned from Rory Gilmore, it is that everyone deserves to be loved.  
  
He picks up a new section of the paper and sips his now lukewarm coffee. He pushes all thoughts of her from his mind for the rest of that day.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, he sits down at the same table with a cup of coffee. The Hartford Chronicle is again left by his seat at the table. Taking a long swallow of coffee, he opens up the paper. There on the front page is the same picture of her from yesterday's paper, only this time, the caption has changed. Rory Gilmore, struck by a speeding car outside of the local diner in Stars Hollow. Full text article on page eight. His eyes widen with shock, and he hears the sound of his rapidly pumping heart in his ears. Frantically, he flips through the pages while his other hand reaches for the phone.  
  
***  
  
STARS HOLLOW-Twenty one year old Rory Gilmore, a local resident of Stars Hollow, was mowed down by a speeding car late last night. She was in the crosswalk located outside a local diner, Luke's, when a car failed to stop at the red light. The driver, an unidentified Caucasian male, is thought to have been under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident. Miss Gilmore is being kept in the Intensive Care Unit at Hartford General for injuries sustained during the crash...  
  
***  
  
The phone rings and rings. There is no answer at her house. They are probably at the hospital, idiot. Leaving his unfinished cup of coffee on the table and the pages of the paper lying separated in a heap on the floor, he grabs his keys and runs out to the garage.  
  
***  
  
Ten minutes later, he squeals to a stop illegally in front of the doors to the ICU. He ignores the security guard yelling at him to move his car and pushes his way to the information desk.  
  
"Rory Gilmore," he pants.  
  
The nurse eyes him suspiciously. "Relationship?"  
  
"Boyfriend," he says unconsciously.  
  
Her gaze immediately softens. "Make a right at the end of that hallway," she says, pointing him in the right direction.  
  
"Thank you," he tosses over his shoulder, hurrying down the hallway.  
  
He rounds the corner and is immediately confronted by the sight of Lorelai, pacing relentlessly in front of the glass windows looking into Rory's room. In the waiting area a few feet away, he sees Luke, her grandparents, and Christopher.  
  
Lorelai looks up and sees him standing there. He looks disheveled and out of breath. Wordlessly, she opens her arms to him. He pauses a second, then steps into her embrace. He pulls away and peers through the glass windows. "How bad is it?"  
  
She wipes her watery eyes, the same eyes she has passed on to her daughter. "Mild head trauma, a few superficial cuts and bruises. Not too bad, considering...She was unconscious when they brought her in, but she's slipped into a normal sleep now. They're going to move her to a regular room when she wakes up."  
  
"She's a feisty one," he says, offering her a small smile.  
  
"I don't know where she gets it," she says, smiling back. "How did you know to come here?"  
  
"I read it in the paper this morning."  
  
Lorelai looks ashamed. "I am so sorry. I should have called you."  
  
"I'm sure you had more important things to worry about. Besides, you don't owe me anything, not when it comes to Rory."  
  
"Don't be silly," she scolds him. "Like it or not, you're a part of this family."  
  
Am I? he wonders.  
  
***  
  
Late that night, after Luke finally talks Lorelai into getting some sleep at home, he remains at his station, watching her through the glass. She has slept peacefully all day, well on her way to recovery. It is in the relative privacy of the deserted hallway that he finally allows the tears to crack through the tough exterior. He prefers not to analyze what he is feeling; he has already given the state of their relationship far too much thought.   
  
A hand on his shoulder startles him. Hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he turns around.  
  
"Mr. Hayden," he acknowledges.  
  
"Christopher," he corrects. "Mr. Hayden makes me feel old."  
  
There is an awkward silence. Christopher clears his throat. He had sworn to himself that he would never be the overprotective, embarrassing father, but when confronted with the man who reminds him so much of himself at that age...  
  
"Look," he says, not sure of how to begin. "I don't know how much you know about my relationship with Lorelai, but..."  
  
Tristin stares at him, unsure of where he is going with this.  
  
Christopher lets out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, I'm just going to come out and say this. The relationship you and Rory have reminds me of what I had with Lorelai. You love each other to death, but you can't seem to get it together. Am I close?"  
  
"I'm listening," he says, slowly.  
  
"I know that things between the two of you are messed up. I don't know the circumstances, or who is to blame, but all I can say is don't let the chance to be together pass you by. Sooner or later, you're going to run out of chances."  
  
"It's already too late."  
  
"Of course it's not. You're here, aren't you?"   
  
"Thanks for the advice," he says tiredly, "but I think I'm going to go home now." He slowly walks down hallway, silent except for the beeps of heart monitors and whirring of machines.   
  
Christopher watches him go, then enters his daughter's room. He pulls a chair up to the side of her bed and lovingly places a kiss on her cheek. "There's no place for pride when it comes to love," he whispers sadly.  
  
She stirs, then opens her eyes. "Dad?"  
  
  
12/21 


	13. I Smell Your Skin

I Miss You  
Chapter 13: I Smell Your Skin  
  
  
She lays in her bed thinking. Her family members are in the hallway harassing the doctor while the orderly prepares to move her to a new room. She yawns, amazed that she can still be tired after sleeping for nearly a whole day. Aside from that, she feels alright. Her head aches a little and her shoulder is beginning to turn a disgusting shade of green where she landed on it. There are a few scrapes on the side of her face, but nothing permanently disfiguring. She feels extremely lucky to be alive at all.  
  
She waves and smiles reassuringly at her family as she is wheeled past them on her bed. Her smiles grows larger when she sees Luke, staring straight down at his shoes, trying not to notice the other patients. Her grandmother is still harassing the doctor while her grandfather reclines in a chair reading the paper. Her mother and father are in deep discussion about something, but turn their attention to her as she passes. Yup, everything as it should be.   
  
***  
  
Her mother is the first one to enter her room. "Hey, babe!"  
  
"Someone's awfully cheery for two in the morning," Rory grumbles good-naturedly.  
  
Lorelai shrugs. "That's because my little girl is going to be just fine."  
  
"Glad to hear it. Where's everyone else?"  
  
"Your doctor sent them home. They have to wait until tomorrow morning to see you, when regular visiting hours start. I don't, though, because they acknowledge my birthright as Queen of the Universe."  
  
"Oh mighty Queen of the Universe, how about pulling some strings and getting me out of here."  
  
"Sorry, lowly Princess of the Universe. The Royal Doctor has decreed that you must be kept in this Fortress of Solitude until Superman flies in to rescue you."  
  
Rory blinks. "You just mixed well known pop culture with your own delusional tendencies."  
  
Lorelai dismisses the charge with a wave of her hand. "You know," she says, adopting a more serious tone, "Tristin was here earlier."  
  
"Oh, really?" she asks, feigning a disinterested tone.  
  
"Uh huh," she responds eloquently.   
  
"That's nice."  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"Mom!" she says exasperatedly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Is there something else? Did he have anything to say? How did he look?"  
  
"He looked pretty shaken. He stayed outside your room all day until just before you woke up. Not a lot to say, really, he just wanted to see that you were okay."  
  
"Oh," she says, disappointed. She quickly changes the subject. "So what did the doctor really say?"  
  
"He said that he wants to keep you overnight for observation before he sends you home. He just wants to be sure you're okay before he lets you leave."  
  
"Okay," she says, letting out another huge yawn.  
  
"Alright, I'm going to go. I'll be back tomorrow morning. I love you, sweetie."  
  
"Love you too."  
  
Lorelai walks out of the room, gently pulling the door closed behind her. Luke is waiting for her in the hallway. "Did you get a hold of Tristin?" she asks.  
  
"He hasn't been home since he left the hospital, but I left a voice mail on his cell phone a little while ago," he responds.  
  
"I wonder where we went," she says, her forehead crinkling with worry.  
  
"I'm sure he's fine. He's just got some issues to work through."  
  
"I hope you're right."  
  
***  
  
Rory lets her heavy eyelids slide closed. So tired. It has been wonderful to wake and see her father sitting there. He had been whispering something as she woke up, but she doesn't remember the exact words. Oh well. She will ask him tomorrow.  
  
Outside in the parking lot, Tristin sits in his car, in the exact same parking space he has been in since leaving the hospital two hours ago. He has spent the last few hours thinking about what Christopher had said. He realizes that it is probably very late and he should go home and get some sleep. He pulls out his cell phone to check the time and sees he has missed a call.  
  
"Hey Tristin, it's Luke. Lorelai just wanted me to call and tell you that Rory woke up about an hour ago. She's fine and everything so they moved her out of the ICU...uh, I guess we'll talk to you tomorrow."  
  
Tristin immediately opens his car door, needing to see for himself. He jogs in the entrance and immediately approaches the nurses station. "Rory Gilmore, she's been moved out of the ICU, what room is she in?"  
  
"I'm sorry, visiting hours are over. You'll have to come back in the morning."  
  
"Please," he whispers.  
  
Something in his eyes stops her from saying the harsh words on the tip of her tongue. "Room 206. Five minutes," she says finally. She hands him a visitor's pass with a prim smile on her face.  
  
"Thank you," he says, smiling at her gratefully. He runs up the stairwell, not having the patience to wait for an elevator. As he approaches her room, he slows his pace, almost to a halt. Just a quick peek, he promises himself.  
  
He cracks the door a few inches, opening it as quietly as the squeaky hinges will allow. He slips inside her room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dark. She is sleeping peacefully, looking much the same as she did when he saw her last. Only this time, no glass between them. He walks closer to her bed, examining the damage from the accident. A few scrapes, a couple bruises. No broken bones or internal damage. He breathes a sigh of relief. She will be just fine.  
  
He turns his back to go, but discovers that he can't bring himself to leave, not yet. He lifts a chair in the corner, setting it down soundlessly next to her bed. He settles himself into the chair. He comforts himself, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Hesitantly, he reaches an unsteady hand toward her hair. He smoothes the tangled locks away from her face. She stirs a little, leaning her face into his touch. It's almost as if she can sense his presence. Gently, he intertwines his fingers with hers. Placing a kiss on the palm of her hand, he lays his head on the side of her bed. He doesn't sleep, but keeps a silent vigil all through the night.  
  
***  
  
When she wakes the next morning, it is very early. Something has woken her, but she doesn't know what. The sun has not yet risen, so it can't be that. She breathes deeply, and a familiar smell assaults her nose. She looks around the room sleepily, but no one is there. Then she looks down. There, in the standard sterile hospital sheets, is the soft imprint of his head.  
  
  
13/21 


	14. on The Empty Pillow Next To Mine

I Miss You  
Chapter 14: (on) The Empty Pillow Next To Mine  
  
  
She has been home for three days. The bruises on her body have faded to a light purplish color, and the scrapes on her face have shrunk, almost disappearing completely. She has even stopped taking the painkillers the doctor prescribed for her shoulder. Her mother and Luke have been fussing over her nonstop. Not that it's a bad thing, just kind of...suffocating. In truth, she is looking forward to her escape to Italy and the chance to get out of her own head for awhile. She has some serious thinking to do.   
  
She hasn't seen him since New York. She knows that he has been around; her family members have told her as much. But he only seems to come when she is sleeping or too out of it to notice. It's not fair that he keeps seeing her but she doesn't get to see him. Especially since he is the one who decided that he doesn't want to get involved with her again. So why keep coming around?   
  
***  
  
She stays up late that night reading. When she finally shuts off the light on her nightstand, it is nearly three in the morning. With a sigh, she rolls over on her side and shuts her eyes. Not fifteen minutes later, she hears a car drive up to the house, the headlights shining through the glass of her window. It wakes her from the light doze she has drifted into. The lights flicker off and a car door slams. Her eyes fall closed sleepily.  
  
A slight rattling at her window causes her eyes to fly open. She knows he is outside, sliding the glass pane of her window higher and higher. In their junior year of high school, when he had first tried that particular trick, he had managed to break her window, waking up Lorelai and all the neighbors. Now, he slides it up effortlessly and swings a leg over the window sill. She hears the soft thump on the carpet as his feet connect with the ground.  
  
She slowly shuts her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She forces herself to take deep, even breaths. Part of her wants to yell at him for sneaking into her room like that, but the bigger part is curious to see what he is up to. Her mattress shifts as he cautiously sits on the side of her bed. She hears two thuds as he carelessly tosses his shoes to the side. She fights the urge to fidget, instead remaining motionless.  
  
She is laying all the way over on one side of the bed. He ceases all movement, watching her for a few minutes before deciding that she is in a deep sleep and will not wake. He scoots a little higher up before lowering himself onto the mattress fully, laying next to her. He speaks no words and he does not touch her.   
  
She is truly puzzled. Has he been doing this every night since she's been home? How hasn't she noticed? And what the hell does he think he is doing? While it is kind of a cute, romantic gesture to stay by her side while she sleeps, it is also very disturbing in a stalkerish kind of way. She listens closely, trying to determine if he is asleep. She can't tell. After a few minutes, she decides more drastic actions are called for.  
  
She rolls over onto her back, mumbling intelligibly. Her arm collides with his chest. Crap. Damn bed is smaller than she thought. Now what is she going to do? Apparently he is thinking the same thing. His muscles tighten, and she knows he is trying to think of a way to get out from under her arm. Well, at least she knows he isn't asleep now. He wiggles a little, trying to free himself.  
  
Oh no you don't, she thinks. If you're going to drive all the way over here only to sneak in my window and lay in my bed without my knowledge, you're at least staying the night.  
  
She rolls over onto her other side, facing him. She cuddles up to his chest, effectively trapping him. He sighs in resignation and gives up. The muscles is his chest relax.  
  
She fights valiantly to stay awake, but the wonderfully warm feeling of being in his arms again lulls her to sleep. When she wakes the next morning, he is gone, leaving no evidence of his presence. She's not even sure she didn't dream the whole thing.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the week passes in the same manner, with Rory pretending to be asleep and Tristin sneaking in her window every night. She's not sure why she doesn't confront him about it. Deep down, she's afraid that his secret visits are the only part of him she has left. He makes no move to communicate with her in the daylight, and that small part of him is better than nothing.  
  
***  
  
He climbs in her window, as he has been doing for the last few nights. Each night he keeps telling himself that it will be the last time, but he always returns. Only this time, he knows he will not come back. She leaves tomorrow, and unless he wants to fly to Italy, his late night visits will have to stop.  
  
He stands inside her room and shuts the window. He freezes as a light clicks on. He turns around slowly. She is sitting up in bed, eyeing him warily.   
  
He opens his mouth to explain  
  
"Don't even try it buster. I know you've been sneaking in every night since I've been home from the hospital."   
  
He opens his mouth again.   
  
She cuts him off. "You know, you're lucky Luke doesn't know about this. I think he has a shotgun upstairs."  
  
He opens the window again, intending to run away and pray to God she thinks she has dreamed the whole thing.  
  
"Not so fast. Why do you keep sneaking into my room while I'm sleeping?"  
  
He ponders her question. "I couldn't stay away."  
  
She raises one eyebrow, clearly skeptical.  
  
"I had to see if it's possible to live without you in my life."  
  
"I thought you had already decided I was expendable."  
  
"That was before."  
  
"Oh, so just because I was hit by a car, you suddenly can't live without me?"  
  
He shrugs. "Sounds dumb when you say it like that."  
  
"Why all the secrecy? You know how I feel."  
  
"I know how you feel, I just don't know to what extent you feel it."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her voice getting a little louder.  
  
"Just forget it. I'm leaving."  
  
"Go ahead. I'm getting quite used to seeing you turn your back on me."  
  
He puts one leg through the window.  
  
"This is it, you know. I'm getting on that plane tomorrow. And if you don't tell me otherwise, I'll do whatever it takes to get over you. This is your last chance."  
  
He stares at her for a moment, then swings the other leg over the sill and jumps.   
  
  
14/21 


	15. you have only been Gone Ten Days

I Miss You  
Chapter 15: (you have only been) Gone Ten Days  
  
  
He is back at Princeton for his senior year. He recognizes the tell tale signs of senior-itis as they begin to bite away at his work ethic. Homework? Nah. Class? Right, maybe later if he feels like it. He feels perennially on edge, drowning in anticipation, like a little boy unable to sleep on Christmas Eve. Anticipating what, he isn't sure. One thing is for certain. That things he thought he would be looking forward to, back when he was a freshman, are no longer guaranteed.  
  
It's hard for him, seeing his college buddies fall in love, one by one, and propose to their loves. He can't imagine what it must be like to be promised to someone for that kind of commitment, not anymore.  
  
He is a fool when it comes to love. He is too stubborn to admit that he needs her, because that would mean admitting that it is his fault that they aren't together. She has apologized more than enough. It's on his shoulders now. She asked him for a reason to stay and he gave her none. He doesn't know why he left things the way he did. She put the question out there, put her heart on the line. And he refused it.  
  
Maybe he's some sort of masochist. A glutton for punishment. An emotional retard. Or maybe he's just an idiot. Whatever the reason, he can't bring himself to let on how much she means to him still. It used to be so easy in high school, when they were teenagers caught up in the dizzying spell that is teenage love.   
  
There's had been the unlikeliest of loves. He had thought it would be impossible for them to ever be together, especially then. But somehow, they had overcome every obstacle to share one of the most unforgettable years of his life. Unfortunately, that had been the easiest part of their relationship. It had fallen apart from there. For the life of him, they just can't seem to get it together. They seem destined to hurt each other forever.   
  
But that's what love is. Love is pain. Love is caring so much that it hurts, when even though the rational mind knows that there is no way, the heart still hangs on for the smallest glimmer of hope. His love for her is real, because if it were not, he wouldn't be hurting as much as he is.   
  
Does love end? Diminish with time? Humbly sink beneath the surface, lying in wait for a chance to reemerge? Which adage is true, "out of sight, out of mind" or "absence makes the heart grow fonder"? He has plenty of time to find out for himself.   
  
***  
  
He sits under the arch, cramming for a philosophy exam. The surrounding trees shine glowing hues of yellow and brilliant reds. His attention is drawn to a couple not ten feet away. The guy is down on one knee, the girl standing before him, eyes wide open in shock, chin trembling. He cannot hear the words being exchanged. Their words are meant for their ears alone. The girl regains a modicum of composure, enough to mouth the words, tears flowing, leaking from her dewy eyes. The guy cannot comprehend her acceptance at first, then leaps to his feet and lifts her from the ground in a tight embrace. "We're engaged!" he shouts joyfully, the ecstatic smile stretching his face to impossibly wide angles. Scattered applause erupts from surrounding students, shouts of encouragement and congratulations exchanged.  
  
Tristin feels a tiny smile pass over his features, genuinely happy for the couple. This is how it's supposed to be. Once again, his thoughts return to a certain coffee addicted brunette. Who is he kidding? He is a wreck without her. He would be a fool to think that any other girl could ever compare to the one he let get away. So what is he going to do about it?  
  
Enough vacillating with the "are we" or "aren't we." He's tired of treading the same worn groove they find themselves stuck in. They are going to get it together, finally find themselves on the same plane of existence, and move to the next level together.   
  
He has enough regrets in his life. There's no way in hell he is going to allow her to become another one. His mind made up and a course of action determined, he feels better for the first time in a long time. He is pulling out all the stops. He is going to win her back or die trying.   
  
  
  
15/21  
  
  
  
I am very sorry about the sporadic (and short) updates. For this chapter, I felt that to make it go any further would be to unnecessarily rush it. While length is something that I love in great Trory fic, I also believe that ten pages of crap is worthless. That being said, I can't promise frequent updates, but I do promise that I will see this through to the end. Thanks for reading! 


	16. but already I'm Wasting Away

I Miss You  
Chapter 16: (but already) I'm Wasting Away  
  
  
The sun rises slowly, illuminating the roofs of the buildings below her. She is curled up on a wicker rocking chair on a balcony. She breathes deeply, inhaling the last remnants of autumn in Rome. She cradles the porcelain mug in her hands and brings the rim to her lips, blowing gentle puffs of air across the surface of the scalding liquid. She cautiously takes a sip, then chugs the remainder of the cup. She drags the back of her hand across her mouth and licks her lips. Leaning forward, she places the cup on the ground beside her and settles back into her chair.   
  
She takes in the now familiar scenery. She feels a pang of regret that she will be leaving all of it behind in a few short days. But the semester is over. It's time to go home. She sighs deeply. She can't wait to see her family and her friends, but she isn't sure that she's ready to face him again.   
  
She can't deal with his ever changing moods. First he pursues her. Then he pushes her away. Then he wins her back. And then he pushes her away again. Though, in all fairness, she hasn't exactly been consistent with her emotions either. The bottom line is that she issued an ultimatum. He called her bluff. But now he wants her back. Well at least he did two months ago, when he weaseled her number from her mother and called her. She couldn't bring herself to go back to him and be cautiously happy for a few months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Time to break the cycle.   
  
She shakes her head. She tells herself the same thing every time but it hasn't worked yet. She gets the feeling they will never be over each other. She rolls her eyes at herself. She needs to get out of her own head and think for awhile. She heads back into her apartment to change. She knows where she needs to go.  
  
***  
  
She bypasses the grassy bank and instead heads for the rocks and boulders leading to the edge of the river. She effortlessly steps from boulder to boulder, being careful not to lose her footing on the slippery rocks. She finally comes to a stop right at the waters edge, where the smaller rocks and pebbles line the shore. Grinning, she picks up a handful of pebbles. Sifting through them carefully, she picks out the round flat stones.   
  
Her feet assume a more secure stance as she bends slightly at the waist. Fingering the stone between her thumb and forefinger, she flicks her wrist and sends the rock hurtling toward the water. She counts the skips. One...two...three...four. Four. Not bad. The irony of trying not to think about him while skipping stones is not lost on her.   
  
Long before they had become a couple, they had been friends. It had been a typical spring day in Stars Hollow that Rory Gilmore had learned to skip stones. It had taken them well over an hour to find a good amount of "skippable" stones. She had stood on the old wood bridge by the lake, the pile of stones at her feet. He had sat on the wood post at the end of the bridge, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. His teasing smile had mocked her inability to properly skip a stone. The pile of rocks dwindled quickly without a decent skip among them. Finally, he had stood, ready to show her how it was done. She remembers the way his hand naturally curved around the stone, turning it over and over again in the palm of his hand. He had crouched by the edge of the bridge and, with an expert flick of his wrist, skipped the stone seven times.   
  
Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, she had glared at his smug expression and chose her rock. She mimicked the way he had handled the stone. With a flick of her wrist, she released the stone and watched in amazement as the stone skipped twice. She had let out a squeal of excitement and performed her own little happy dance. He had rolled his eyes, but his mouth had broken into a full fledged smile.   
  
She remembers that day above all others, mainly because it had been the first time they had really connected. Though they had reached the point where they were comfortable enough around each other to reasonably expect that they would not start bickering, that had been the day they became friends. They talked about everything that day: school, family, life in general. In fact, somewhere in her bedroom in Stars Hollow, a souvenir rock sat on a shelf somewhere, a memento of that golden afternoon.   
  
Ever since then, whenever she needs an outlet, she always seeks some body of water and sends rocks flying. Somehow, seeing the stones break the glassy image of the water and watch it settle once more gives her some sense of peace. She can't explain it, but whenever things get rough, she finds herself near water.   
  
She watches as the last rock skips across the surface of the lake. Wiping her dusty hands on the front of her jeans, she begins the ascent back up to the grassy bank. She settles on the grass. She retrieves her journal from her messenger bag and begins to furiously scribble.   
  
A half hour later, her fingers are beginning to cramp but she is finally feeling at peace. She closes the journal and places her pen inside the metal spiral. She tucks it back into her bag, then places the bag behind her. She scoots forward and lays down, the bag cushioning her head from the grass. She closes her eyes, shielding them from the blinding afternoon sun.  
  
Her eyes snap open at the sound of someone calling her name. The voice sounds vaguely familiar. Scratch that. It sounds very familiar. It sounds like...  
  
"Dean?"  
  
  
  
16/21  
  
  
Where am I going with all this? Beats me. Too contrived? Possibly. Am I having fun? You bet. Five more to go! 


	17. I Know I'll See You Again

I Miss You  
Chapter 17: I Know I'll See You Again  
  
  
They had been talking for half an hour when he finally asks the fateful question: "So how's Tristin?"  
  
She knows she should have expected it. It is widely known that she broke up with Dean for Tristin all those years ago. And for all intents and purposes, she and Tristin had been as good as married anyway.  
  
"I wouldn't know," she finally responds coolly.  
  
"I'm sorry, I had no idea," he says, his brown eyes flashing apologetically.  
  
"Don't be, it's not your fault."  
  
"You don't have to answer this," he says, testing the waters, "but what ended it?"  
  
"Which time?" she asks sarcastically. "I guess what it comes down to is that we aren't meant to be together."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me." He clearly isn't buying it.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"That is such a cop out answer."  
  
She starts to protest but he cuts her off.  
  
"That's what people say when a relationship gets too hard or complicated, so they blame everything on fate instead of taking responsibility for themselves. And in all the years I've known you, Rory Gilmore," he looks at her pointedly, "I've never known you to bail when things get too hard."  
  
"I'm not bailing, I'm letting go."  
  
"You know what the problem is," he continues, ignoring her, "you're both too stubborn for your own good."  
  
"I am not!" she argues.  
  
He raises his eyebrow.  
  
"Somehow you got it into your heads that you couldn't be together. You couldn't just accept the fact that you had the perfect relationship and be happy with it. So you created these impossible hoops to make each other jump through, so of course it would come as no surprise when it couldn't be done. And yet you can't stay away from each other." He shakes his head ruefully. "That is so messed up, Ror."  
  
Her eyes narrow. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to you criticize my relationship failures. You have no idea what we went through. You have no idea how we've changed. Things can't stay the same forever, Dean. If things were that simple, I'd still be with you!"  
  
Her eyes turn a steely cobalt and her cheeks flush dangerously. He recognizes that look all too well. So the line has presented itself. Now the question is, back off or skip merrily to the other side? He shrugs slightly. I've got nothing to lose. But she has everything to gain.   
  
"You can cut the crap," he says calmly. "Does it matter how you've changed or who did what to who how long ago? The point is, even after all this time, you still love him! You'll always love him. And not the peaceful, nostalgic kind of love that you can deal with everyday for the rest of your life. I'm talking the passionate, once in a lifetime, soul wrenching love. Do you think love like that is a walk in the park? Maybe that's why you're scared, because you don't know how to open yourself up to it. But I don't care what you say. You two will never get over each other. True love never dies. Let go of your pride, Ror. There's no room for it."  
  
"You can't just sit there and spout cliches at me. Don't fool yourself. I know exactly what it is we're giving up..."  
  
"No, what you're giving up," he stresses.  
  
"Will you let me talk?" she screeches in frustration. "Do you know how many times I've crawled back to him, begging him to forgive me? We're stuck in this sick holding pattern and I'm tired of it. I can't do that to myself anymore. I won't. We had our chance. We had second and third and fourth chances. And we still couldn't get it together. I'm tired of trying. I'm just tired." Her voice abruptly drops to a whisper. Her self righteous anger has finally left her, leaving nothing but regret and resignation.  
  
She allows him to pull her into a comforting hug. He strokes her hair lightly.  
  
"Don't you think you deserve to be happy?"  
  
"I don't need his love to be happy."  
  
"Once you've experienced that kind of love, you'll never be whole without it. Do you realize how lucky you are? So many people live their lives without knowing what came naturally to you at seventeen. Don't throw it away."  
  
"I don't know how to find it again," she confesses sadly.  
  
"Yes you do. It's always been there." He gestures to her heart. "You just couldn't hear it until now." He strokes her hair comfortingly, lulling her into a light sleep.  
  
She wakes much later in her bed, drowsy and disoriented. "What is wrong with me?" she asks her empty apartment. She could have sworn she had fallen asleep with Dean on the river bank. So how had she gotten back to her apartment?  
  
The phone rings. She clears her throat then reaches for the receiver. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey babe."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"I'm sorry to call like this, I know it's the middle of the night there, but I figured hey, now is as good a time as any, if this can be considered a good time, which I don't think it can be, but-"  
  
"Mom," she interrupts.   
  
"I'm sorry," she apologizes. She sounds flustered.  
  
"Mom, what's wrong?"  
  
To Rory's horror, Lorelai chokes on a sob. "I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it."  
  
She feels her heart drop into her feet. A cold sweat breaks over her brow.  
  
"There's been an accident."  
  
"Who?" she whispers.  
  
A sniffle, followed by faint static. "Dean."  
  
She pulls the phone from her ear and stares at it in bewilderment. She must have heard her wrong.  
  
"-crashed into a tree during a rainstorm. I'm sorry sweetie, he didn't make it."  
  
"Mom, that's impossible." Her voice grows steadier with the knowledge that there's no way that he can be dead.   
  
"Rory," her mother is openly weeping now, "I'm sorry, but Dean is dead."  
  
"No he isn't." Impatience begins to creep into her voice. "Mom, I just talked to him this afternoon. He happened to be here, backpacking through Europe."  
  
"Sweetie, I know this is hard. I know this is going to take some time to get used to-"  
  
"When did it happen?" she demands.  
  
"Early this morning. He was on his way back from New York."  
  
She drops the phone. That's impossible. This can't be happening. Am I going crazy?  
  
Her mother's worried voice bleeds into the still air of her apartment. "Rory, are you alright? Talk to me."  
  
"I'm coming home now," she says shakily. "I'm pretty much packed anyway, I just have to take care of a few things. I'll call you when I know more."  
  
She replaces the receiver on its cradle. Her hand is shaking. A single tear works its way down her cheek. It silently splashes on the floor.   
  
  
  
17/21  
  
  
  
I know, this is weird. Just go with it. Sorry for all the philosophical dialogue. And while I'm apologizing, sorry for disappearing these last few months. After my last update, I realized that I had backed myself into a corner and didn't know how to get out of it. Hence, this oddball chapter. Well at least no one can accuse me of falling into the cliche trap. Thanks for sticking with me. I realize it hasn't been easy, thanks to my frequent disappearing acts. But I meant what I said. I will see this through to the end. (The question is, will it be worth it?) 


	18. whether Far or Soon

I Miss You  
Chapter 18: (whether) Far or Soon  
  
  
She flies into her mother's arms. They embrace tightly, tears trickling silently from their matching eyes. Her long anticipated homecoming is a solemn event, a far cry from the joyous fanfare and celebration that Lorelai had wanted it to be. But today there is no cause for celebration. Dean had been laid to rest the previous day. She had been unable to make it back in time.   
  
She is finally beginning to accept that he is, indeed, dead. Her last memories of him are still their chance encounter in Rome. She cannot begin to understand how what she knows to be cold hard fact can conflict so cruelly with her crystal clear recollection. She can picture every gesture, every inflection in his voice of every word he spoke to her that day. It couldn't have been a lie. It couldn't have been.   
  
Her mother gently takes her arm and leads her toward the exit. She is anxious to talk to her daughter about her befuddling reaction to the tragic news. She could chalk it up to drowsiness, or maybe even the infamous Gilmore flights of fancy, but she needs to hear the reason. For her own peace of mind. She can't explain why her daughter had so lucidly informed her that Dean was not dead and that she had seen him that same day. She has theories, of course. If there's one thing Lorelai Gilmore always has, it's a reason for everything.  
  
They pull up to the front of the house. It has remained the same, despite the passage of time. Those old feelings of warmth and love sweep over Rory as she drinks in the sight of her home. It's good to know there are some things a girl can always count on, she muses silently. Christmas lights are delicately woven through the wood railing of the porch. Icicle lights dangle from the roof. A life-size plastic Santa greets her from the porch swing, his mouth perpetually open in a good natured laugh and his eyes twinkling in merriment. She is shocked to realize that Christmas is just around the corner. It has never even occurred to her that the holidays are almost upon them.  
  
Her mother wastes no time. "Let's talk."  
  
They haven't even gotten out of the car yet. They choose to have the conversation in the car, encased in the rapidly cooling air and surrounding darkness.  
  
"I don't know what to say. I could have sworn..." She leaves her sentence unfinished.  
  
"Honey, just tell me. You know that I won't think you're crazy."  
  
They share a brief smile over that one.  
  
"Mom," she says slowly. "Do you believe that it's possible for us to talk to the dead?"  
  
"As in the Haley Joel Osment 'I see dead people' sort of way?"  
  
"Well, yeah, actually."  
  
"You're serious? This from the girl who refuses to bow down to the power of the almighty Ouija board?"  
  
"You were always the one moving the pointer thingy, trying to spell out Brad Pitt's name whenever we asked it who you were going to marry!"  
  
"Lies. All lies. He was always too blond for me anyway."  
  
Silence.   
  
"Is this what you think happened to you?"  
  
"I don't know how else to explain it. He was there, Mom. I know he was. But if he was there, then he couldn't have died in New York. But he did."  
  
"Theoretically speaking, let's say that Dean's ghost did appear to you post-mortem. Why? Why you? Why not his family or fiancée?"  
  
Rory ponders. Good questions.  
  
"What did he talk to you about?"  
  
"Love. Relationships. Tristin."  
  
"No way!"  
  
"Rory, that's just too good to be true! Think about it in a Hollywood sort of way." Lorelai is already off and running. "Your first love appears from beyond the grave to encourage you to go for it with your one true love, who stole you away from him in the first place! This is perfect!"  
  
"You're forgetting one thing. This is real life mom! I don't believe in ghosts or witches or things that go bump in the night. The only thing I know is that he was there. I'm sure of it." Her eyes begin to fill with tears as she realizes that she will never reach a satisfying conclusion.  
  
"Honey, I think you're focusing too much on the obvious here. Go with me on this." Her brow scrunches in deep concentration. "Okay, explanation one. Dean comes back from the dead to tell you to go for it with Tristin. Or, explanation two, you dreamed the whole thing, and your subconscious told you to go for it with Tristin."  
  
"Either way, you think I should go for it with Tristin."  
  
"There's my brainiac daughter."  
  
Rory sighs.  
  
"Ror, I don't mean to take this lightly or be insensitive. But either way, what is your heart telling you?"  
  
"I've debated and pondered and analyzed and overanalyzed. I don't know anymore. I just don't know."  
  
"Can I just say one more thing and then I'll shut up?"  
  
"Speak."  
  
"You know how everyone used to know that Luke and I belonged together except for me?"  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"I think it runs in the family," she finishes wickedly.  
  
  
The next morning she takes a small bouquet of flowers to his grave. She doesn't know what kind of flowers bloom in the winter or where the satiny blossoms she carries came from, but it doesn't matter. She traces the name carved in the cold stone with her eyes. So here it is, she thinks. The proof that I'm either clairvoyant or insane. Talk about splitting hairs...  
  
She shakes her head. Maybe her mother is right. Does it matter whether he was there or not? She has been agonizing so much over whether she is right or wrong that she has lost sight of the fact that she has lost a friend. She props the bouquet against the headstone, away from the pile of flowers heaped over the loose soil. She remembers every moment they spent together and how each affected her. She allows herself to grieve. And when she finally dries her eyes and returns to her car, she knows what she has to do.   
  
  
  
He pulls around the circular driveway to the front of the mansion. His car is almost overflowing with gifts and purchases. He grabs as much as he can carry and staggers to the front door. He almost trips over her.   
  
Her voice stops him cold as he drops everything on the expensive marble. "Hi."   
  
That's it. Just a simple 'hi.' He feels he shouldn't be surprised. He says the only thing he can think of. "Hey Ror."  
  
  
  
18/21 


	19. but I Need You to know

I Miss You  
Chapter 19: (but) I Need You (to know)  
  
***  
  
She gingerly perches on the black Italian leather couch in the living room. She can't imagine anyone living in the cold expansive room; it reminds her more of a museum. She has never felt at ease in his house. Her gaze pans the room and her eyes absorb every detail. She looks for a remnant of herself, anything that would tell her that she has remained in his heart even now. But there is nothing.  
  
She hears his steady footsteps enter the room. The unmistakable aroma of coffee accompanies him. As he passes the coffee table in front of her, he carefully sets a mug on a coaster and slides it toward her. She accepts it gratefully and wraps her chilled hands around the piping hot ceramic.  
  
He seats himself on the matching couch across from her, his elbows resting on his knees, and waits for her to talk. His heart feels like it is going to explode in his chest, but his face remains impassive. He tries not to care that she is sitting across from him, or that she willingly sought him out so soon after her arrival home. But he can't help it. As pathetic as it sounds, the woman before him has been his whole world for the past five years, and he wouldn't want it any other way.  
  
She blows a jet of cool air over the surface of the steaming liquid. She absently brings the rim of the mug to her lips and takes a small sip. She takes a big breath and exhales slowly, the breath of one who has traveled far and finally found home. Abruptly, she sits up and sets the mug on its coaster. The harsh clinking of ceramic on wood startles him as it echoes through the room. They both watch the almost full cup of liquid slosh back and forth against the inside of the mug, until it settles once again.  
  
The reunion on his doorstep had been odd, to say the least. He had greeted her pleasantly, with no bitter words or reproach. But he had been guarded, almost distant. Hesitation had briefly flashed in his eyes when she asked if she could talk to him, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. So here they are.  
  
"So I've been thinking," she says suddenly.   
  
"About?"  
  
"Us. You and me."  
  
"Ah. The Never-Ending Story." He raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Good movie, better book," she counters.  
  
"You know, I was almost impressed with the lack of babbling on your part, but behold, I was wrong."  
  
"You should be used to being wrong by now," she smirks.  
  
"Alas, even after all this time you're still a mystery to me. And I could never quite match wits with the master," he allows.  
  
They can't help smiling.   
  
He brings himself back to the present with a small shake of his head. It's too easy to fall into the same old patterns with her, he thinks.  
  
She feels the moment pass as his smile fades. The good times had never been a problem with them; unfortunately, like all good things, they had never lasted long, and had always been followed by not-so-good times.  
  
"So you've been thinking," he prompts.  
  
"Right. That's me. Always thinking." She pauses, stalling for time.  
  
"Rory, what are you doing here?" he asks quietly.  
  
"What am I doing here," she repeats softly, speaking more to herself than to him. She raises her eyes to meet his. "Dean died last week," she says slowly.  
  
"I know." He looks away. "I heard about it in the newspaper." His gaze swings back up to meet hers. "I'm sorry."  
  
She plows ahead. The words fall from her lips in a hurried stream of words, running and tumbling over each other. "It just made me think, you know? About all the things that he did, but more about all the things he was never going to be able to do. And that got me thinking...if I were to die today, or tomorrow, or five years from now, what would be said about my life? Would I be satisfied with the way things are? I try not to put things off, to live every day like it's my last. And I have no regrets, except for one." She paused to take a breath.  
  
His heart begins to accelerando. Is she finally admitting to herself what he had accepted long ago? He can't bring himself to take his eyes off of her.  
  
"I love you. Despite everything that's happened, everything we've said and done to each other, I keep coming back to one thing that I know is true. I love you. I try not to. I try to tell myself that I'm being stupid and that I'm holding on to something that can never be. But I can't stop, because I know that I will never forgive myself if I don't try one more time to make things work."  
  
Her cheeks flush with the frenzied outpouring of her words. She takes in his stunned expression. As she watches, the expression slowly evolves, turning first into amazement, then into complete and utter happiness. She lets out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.  
  
"Rory," he begins. "This is huge. This is...wow." His smile, the one she has been missing for a long time, dazzles her. "I've been waiting for so long..."  
  
Without realizing it, he has risen from his seat on the couch and steps over the coffee table separating them. He kneels in front of her and takes her hand in his. Wordlessly, he brings her hand to his lips and lays a soft kiss on her knuckles.  
  
He rises from the floor and pulls her to his feet. "As happy as I am right now, there's still something I need to say."  
  
A look of dread creeps into her eyes. As always, she waits for the other shoe to drop.   
  
"Rory, I love you too. But we can't just jump into this. We've been through all of this before. What makes this time any different from the others?"  
  
She holds his gaze steadily. "Maybe this time I've finally realized..." She untangles her hands from his and loops them around his neck lazily. "...that the one thing I've been searching for has been right in front of me the whole time."  
  
"And this elusive thing is?"  
  
"Certainty. As much as I loved you, even back then, I was never sure. I didn't have faith in us, and for that I'm sorry, because you knew from the very beginning what it has taken me five years to realize."  
  
His face looks troubled. Even so, he pulls her closer to him and wraps his arms around her. As he holds her, the conflict disappears from his face. He bends his head and whispers in her ear. "Can we start over again?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Her words are muffled against his shoulder.  
  
"I think we both need to get to know each other. Become friends again. Not rush into anything."  
  
She sighs. "I feel like we've wasted too much time already." She pulls herself even closer to him, wanting to bury herself inside of him.  
  
"I know. I feel the same way." They begin to sway slowly, still wrapped in each other's arms, unconsciously dancing to a long forgotten song. "But this is the way it has to be for now. If we just jump right into it, it'll turn out badly. And I don't want to lose you again."   
  
"So what are you saying?" She pulls back from him slightly, enough to raise her head and look at him. The swaying halts.  
  
"I'm saying that I love you, and I need you in my life. But I can't be with you right now. And you can't be with me either."  
  
"I know," she finally says. She hugs him to her one last time, then pulls away completely. The room feels colder than it did before. She grabs her coat and her keys and heads for the door.   
  
He walks with her, and opens the door for her.   
  
"Will you call me?" she asks.  
  
"Tomorrow," he promises. "And the day after."  
  
She smiles faintly. "I think I can live with that." She walks out of the door and pulls it shut behind her.  
  
  
19/21  
  
Um, I'm REALLY sorry. I didn't realize that it had been so long since my last update (about five months). Thanks to everyone who continued to review and nag me to finish. See? Reviewing DOES make a difference. 


	20. that I Care

I Miss You

Chapter 20: (that) I Care

***

It's late. The blank inked lines in the red leather bound book begin to run together. She blinks rapidly and tries to clear her vision, but the sleepiness persists. She admits defeat. She smothers a yawn and places a bookmark between the cream colored pages. The book is placed in its spot on her night table. She leans over and turns off the light with a soft click. The warm glow is extinguished and the room is shrouded in darkness.

She wriggles down under the blankets and flannel sheets and pulls them up to her nose. She breathes a sigh of contentment. The moonlight glows through her window and paints crooked patterns on her carpet. She could almost trace her finger over its outline if she wanted to. The only sound is the occasional swooshing of passing cars. Their headlights sweep across her walls in a yellow path from her head to her dresser.

And the rest is silence.

She waits for sleep to come, but it seems to be taking its sweet old time tonight. She can't figure out why. She's warm and comfortable, and tired as hell. The stillness of her dark room is shattered as a harsh ring rips through the room. She smiles. Bingo. The reason for her sleeplessness. She hasn't talked to him yet tonight, and that's why she can't sleep. She guesses that after a month of talking to him every night before bed she can't fall asleep without him.

She fumbles for the phone in the dark. She accidentally knocks the receiver off of its cradle and utters a mild expletive. "Hello?" she says, bringing the receiver to her ear.

"Hey," he says. She can hear the smirk in his voice. 

"What are you so smug about?" she asks, stifling another yawn. 

"Were you sleeping?" His voice changes from casual to chagrinned in a matter of seconds.

"Nah, I couldn't sleep. You sound wide awake though."

"You know me…it'll be another few hours before I get tired. Still on college time."

"So why must I suffer with you?" she groans.

"Oh, don't even try it. You love every second of it."

"Yeah, I'm kind of dumb like that," she admits.

"So, tell me…" His voice deepens suggestively and his words are spoken in a whispered growl. "What are you wearing?"

She rolls her eyes even as her cheeks flush. Outside, a pair of headlights picks its way across her wall but stops and remains on a framed painting of Venice. Suddenly suspicious, she pushes her bedding to the side and pads her way to the window. The bright glare of the headlights blinds her. She raises a hand to shield her eyes.

"Well?" He expectantly waits for her answer.

She looks down at her flannel polar bear pajamas. "A blue evening gown," she finally says.

The lights turn off. He steps out of the car with his cell phone to his ear. "Liar," he says, looking at her though her window. 

She smiles delightedly. "What do you think you're doing here, buddy? Visiting hours are over."

He shrugs. "I was bored. And then I remembered 'Hey, it's time to call Rory!' But as I picked up the phone, I thought 'Why call when I can drive over there and make her talk to me in person?" He smiles at her. "So are you going to let me in the door or am I going to have to climb through the window?"

She sighs in mock exasperation. "Hang on, I'll be out in a second."

She leaves the window and hangs up her phone. She runs her fingers through her hair and steps into her fuzzy blue slippers. She quietly opens her bedroom door and walks down the darkened hallway. Carefully, she unlocks the front door and opens it. A blast of frigid air assaults her. 

He's standing on the porch, shoulders hunched, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. She feels cold and warm all at once. "Get in here."

"Gladly," he says, stepping into the warmth of the Gilmore house.

She shuts the door behind him. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. She reaches up to hug him. She stands on the tips of her toes and touches her lips to the place between his cheek and jaw. 

"Where's Luke and your mom?" he whispers.

"Sleeping," she whispers back, "like all the rest of the normal people." She leads him into the living room and plops down on the couch. "Let's find some bad infomercials or cheesy movie to mock."

He settles on the couch next to her and draws her closer to him. She snuggles into his warmth as he pulls a blanket over them. "Sounds good."

In almost no time at all they are asleep. The television's soft blue glow flickers over their peaceful faces. The howling wind rattles the windows and whips through the trees, but it isn't loud enough to disturb their sleep.

***

The day dawns bright and clear. She thinks that she has never seen the sky that shade of blue before. She smoothes the folds of her spectacular gown. The filmy white layers rustle softly, mere whispers caught in the gentle breeze of a beautiful spring day. She holds a bouquet of pure white daisies tied with a pale yellow ribbon. She looks up. She sees him standing at the altar, jittery and calm all at once. He stands in the gazebo with the priest and his college roommate. 

Rows and rows of white chairs are lined up on the lawn. A soft white cloth is unfurled in the center of the aisle. It leads straight up to the altar. A string quartet begins to play Pachelbel's Canon in D. Her mother, wearing a light, sky blue dress, walks down the aisle escorted by Luke. A line of bridesmaids wearing yellow dresses follows. The string quartet glides effortlessly into Mendelssohn's Wedding March. 

She feels a tug on her arm. Her father, dressed in a black tuxedo, smiles at her affectionately. "Are you ready?" he asks, scrutinizing her face.

She looks down the aisle into Tristin's eyes. He can't take his eyes off of her. The intricate details-the decorations, people, music, everything-are lost on him. He sees only her face. Her knees weaken under his intense gaze. With great difficulty, she looks back at her father. 

"Yes," she says, a joyous smile spreading over her face. "I'm finally ready." 

***

She opens her eyes. Her mother is sitting on the coffee table Indian style, her chin propped up by her hands, staring at them. Rory jumps. 

"Mom!" she hisses. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Then you'll appreciate how I felt this morning when I came down the stairs, thinking about a nice big cup of coffee, when hello! There's Rory and Tristin, drooling all over each other. Literally."

Rory sticks her tongue out. "What time is it?"

"It's getting pretty late. Better wake Sleeping Beauty over there. I've got to get to the Inn, and Luke's been at the diner for hours. I'll see you later!" She hops off the coffee table and disappears into the kitchen. She reappears a minute later with a travel mug in her hand. "I want details when I get home," she says, nodding toward Tristin, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Bye!"

Rory grins. Wake Sleeping Beauty? Okay, no problem. Only way to do that. She cranes her neck around. Carefully, she shifts her weight and faces him. With a wicked grin, she leans forward and kisses him gently, running her tongue over his lower lip. Then she settles back.

He wakes up immediately and looks at her suspiciously. "Did you just kiss me?" His voice is deep and rough from sleep.

Her face is all innocence. "Would I do that?"

He just stares at her.

She shrugs. "It works in the fairy tales."

He smirks. "So I'm Sleeping Beauty? Yeah, I think that's pretty accurate."

She smiles at him sweetly. "Too bad it didn't work."

"What are you talking about? I'm awake aren't I?"

"Yes," she pouts, "but you're still a frog."

He laughs out loud. "Come here, you." He pulls her onto his lap and begins to tickle her mercilessly.

She shrieks and tries to bolt. 

The sound of their laughter carries well into the afternoon.

END

20/21


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